Haunted

"Well, for someone who doesn't know how to act like a decent human being," he said, going over to the roses and flicking one of the fat, scarlet buds, "he is certainly doing a good imitation of how one might behave. One who happens to be in love."

I felt myself turning as red as the roses Jesse was standing beside.

"Paul is not in love with me," I said. "Believe me." Because guys who were in love with girls did not send minions to try to keep them from fleeing the premises. Did they? "And even if he were, he sure isn't now. . . ."

"Oh, really?" Jesse nodded at the card in my hand. "I think his use of the word love - not sincerely or cordially or truly yours - would indicate otherwise, would it not? And what do you mean, if he were, he isn't now?" His dark-eyed gaze grew even more intense. "Susannah, did something . . . happen between the two of you? Something you aren't telling me?"

Damn! I looked down at my lap, letting some of my hair hide my face, so he couldn't see how deeply I was blushing.

"No," I said to the bedspread. "Of course not."

"Susannah."

When I looked up again, he was no longer standing by the roses. Instead, he was standing by the side of my bed. And he had lifted one of my hands in his own and was looking down at me with that dark, impenetrable gaze of his.

"Susannah," he said again. Now his voice was no longer murderous. Instead, it was gentle, gentle as his touch. "Listen to me. I'm not angry. Not with you. If there's something . . . anything . . . you want to tell me, you can."

I shook my head, hard enough to cause my hair to whip my cheeks. "No," I said. "I told you. Nothing happened. Nothing at all."

But still Jesse didn't release my hand. Instead, he stroked the back of it with one calloused thumb.

I caught my breath. Was this it? I wondered. Was it possible that after all these weeks of avoiding me, Jesse was finally - finally - going to confess his true feelings for me?

But what, I thought, my heart drumming wildly, if they weren't the feelings I hoped? What if he didn't love me after all? What if that kiss had just been ... I don't know. An experiment or something? A test I'd failed? What if Jesse had decided he just wanted to be friends?

I would die, that's all. Just lie down and die.

No, I told myself. No one clutched someone else's hand the way Jesse was clutching mine and told her that he didn't love her. No way. It wasn't possible. Jesse loved me. He had to. Only something - or someone - was keeping him from admitting it. ...

I tried to encourage him into making the confession I so longed to hear.

"You know, Jesse," I said, not daring to look him in the eye but keeping my gaze on the fingers holding mine. "If there's anything you want to tell me, you can. I mean, feel free."

I swear he was about to say something. I swear it. I finally managed to lift my gaze to his, and I swear that when our eyes met, something passed between us. I don't know what, but something. Jesse's lips parted, and he was about to say who knows what, when the door to my room burst open. CeeCee, followed by Adam, came in, looking angry and carrying a whole lot of poster board.

"All right, Simon," CeeCee snarled. "Enough slacking. We need to get down to business, and we need to get down to business now. Kelly and Paul are whupping our butts. We have got to come up with a campaign slogan, and we have to come up with it now. We have one day until the election."

I blinked at CeeCee as astonishedly as Jesse was doing. He had dropped my hand as if it were on fire.

"Well, hi, CeeCee," I said. "Hi, Adam. Nice of you two to drop by. Ever heard of knocking?"

"Oh, please," CeeCee said. "Why? Because we might interrupt you and your precious Jesse?"

Jesse, upon hearing this, raised his eyebrows. Way up.

Blushing furiously - I mean, I didn't want him to know I'd been talking about him to my friends - I said, "CeeCee, shut up."

But CeeCee, who had dropped the poster board on the floor and was now scattering Magic Markers everywhere, went, "We knew he wasn't here. There's no car in the driveway. Besides, Brad said to go on up."

Of course he had.

Adam, spying the roses, whistled. "Those from him?" he wanted to know. "Jesse, I mean? Guy's got class, whoever he is."

I have no idea how Jesse reacted upon hearing this, since I didn't dare glance in his direction.

"Yes," I said, just to skip the complicated explanations. "Listen, you guys, this really isn't a very good - "

"Ew!" CeeCee, on the floor by the poster board, was finally in a position to get a good look at my feet for the first time. "That is disgusting! Your feet look just like the feet of those people they pulled down off Mount Everest. . . ."

"That was frostbite," Adam said, bending to scrutinize my soles. "Their feet were black. Suze's got the opposite problem, I think. Those are burn blisters."

"Yeah, they are," I agreed. "And they really hurt. So if you don't mind - "

"Oh, no," CeeCee said. "You are not getting rid of us that easily, Simon. We need to come up with a campaign slogan. If I'm going to abuse my photocopying privileges in my capacity as editor of the school paper by running off hand flyers - don't worry, I already got a bunch of my sisters fifth grade classmates to agree to pass them out for us at lunch - I want to make sure they at least say something good. So. What should they say?"

I sat there like a lump, my mind completely filled with one thing and one thing only: Jesse.

"I'm telling you," Adam said, uncapping a Sharpie and taking a deep, long sniff of its tip. "Our slogan should be Vote Suze: She Doesn't Suck."

"Kelly," CeeCee said with some disdain, "would have a field day with that one. We'd be slapped with a defamation of character suit in no time for implying that Kelly sucks. Her dad's a lawyer you know."

Adam, done sniffing the Sharpie, said, "How about Suze Rules?"

"That doesn't exactly rhyme," CeeCee pointed out. "Besides, then the implication is that the student government is a monarchy, which of course it is not."

I risked a glance at Jesse, just to see how he was taking all of this. He did not appear, however, to be paying much attention. He was staring at Paul's roses.

God, I thought. When I got back to school, I was so going to kill that guy.

"How about," I said, hoping to hurry CeeCee and Adam along so that I could have some privacy with my would-be boyfriend again, "Simon says vote for Suze."

CeeCee, kneeling beside the poster board, cocked her head at me, the sun, slanting into my west-facing windows, making her white-blond hair look bright yellow.

"'Simon says vote for Suze/" she repeated slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I like that. Good one, Simon."

And then she bent down to start writing the slogan on the pieces of poster board scattered across my floor. It was clear that neither she nor Adam were going to be leaving anytime soon.

I glanced in Jesse's direction again, hoping to signal to him, as subtly as I could, how sorry I was for the interruption.

But Jesse, I saw, much to my dismay, had disappeared.

Wasn't that just like a guy? I mean, you finally get him to a point where he's apparently ready to make the big confession - whatever it was going to be - and then, bam. He disappears on you.

It's even worse when the guy happens to be dead. Because it wasn't even like I could have his license plate traced or whatever.

Not that I could blame him for leaving, I guess. I mean, I probably wouldn't have wanted to hang around in a room - that now smelled distinctly of Magic Marker - with a bunch of people who couldn't see me.

Still, I couldn't help wondering where he'd gone. I hoped to trail along after Neil Jankow, and keep me from having yet another ghost - Neil's brother Craig - to deal with. And when he'd be back.

It wasn't until I glanced at Paul's roses again that the really horrible part of it all occurred to me. And that was that the question wasn't when Jesse would be back. It was really if. Because of course, if you thought about it, why would the guy bother coming back at all?

I told CeeCee and Adam that I wasn't crying. I told them my eyes were watering from all the marker fumes. And they seemed to believe me.

Too bad the only person I didn't seem able to fool anymore was myself.

13

It didn't take me long to figure out where Jesse had disappeared to.

I mean, in the vast spectrum of things. Actually, it took me another day and a half. That's how long it was before the swelling in my feet went down, and I was able to squeeze my feet into a pair of Steve Madden slides and go back to school.

Where I was promptly called to the principal's office.

Seriously. It was part of Father Dom's morning announcements. He went, into the PA, "And let's all remember to remind our parents about the feast of Father Serra, which will take place here at the mission tomorrow starting at ten o'clock. There will be food and games and music and fun.

Susannah Simon, after assembly, would you please come to the principals office?"

Just like that.

I assumed Father Dom wanted to see how I was doing. You know, I had been out of school for two whole days, thanks to my feet. A nice person would naturally wonder if I was all right. A nice person would be concerned about my well-being.

And it turned out, Father D. was totally concerned about my well-being. But more spiritually than physically.

"Susannah," he said, when I walked through his office door - well, walk might be too strong a word for how I was getting around. I was still sort of hobbling. Fortunately, my slides were super cushioned, and the wide black band that held them to my feet completely covered most of the unsightly Band-Aids.

I still sort of felt like I was walking on mushrooms, though. Some of those blisters on the soles of my feet had gone hard as rocks.

"When," Father Dominic asked, "were you going to tell me about you and Jesse?"

I blinked at him. I was sitting in the visitor's chair across from his desk where I always sit while we have our little chats. As usual, I had fished a toy out from the good fathers bottom drawer, where he keeps the juvenile paraphernalia teachers confiscate from their pupils. Today I had hold of some Silly Putty.

"What about me and Jesse?" I asked blankly, because I genuinely had no idea what he was talking about. I mean, why would I ever suspect that Father Dom knew about me and Jesse ... the truth about me and Jesse? I mean, who would ever have told him?

"That you . . . that you two ..." Father Dom seemed to be having some trouble choosing his words.

That's how I got his meaning before he ever even got the whole sentence out.

"That you and Jesse are ... I believe the term these days is an item," he finally blurted.

I immediately turned as red as the robes of the archbishop, who'd be descending upon our school at any moment.

"We - we aren't," I stammered. "An item, I mean. Actually, nothing could be further from the truth. I don't know how - "

And then, in a burst of intuition, I knew. I knew exactly how Father Dom had found out. Or thought I did, anyway.

"Did Paul tell you that?" I demanded. "Because I am really surprised at you, Father, for listening to a guy like that. Did you know that he is at least partly responsible for my blisters? I mean, he totally came on to me - " I didn't feel it was necessary, under the circumstances, to add that I hadn't resisted. At all. "And then when I tried to leave, he sicced this Hell's Angel after me - "

Father Dom interrupted me. Which is something Father Dominic does not do often.

"Jesse himself told me," he said. "And what is this about you and Paul?"

I was too busy gaping at him to pay attention to his question.

"What?" I exclaimed. "Jesse told you?" I felt as if the world as I knew it had suddenly been turned upside down, topsy-turvy, and inside out. Jesse had told Father Dom that we were an item? That he had feelings for me? Before he'd even bothered to tell me? This could not be happening. Not to me. Because incredibly good things like this never happened to me. Never.

"What, exactly," I asked carefully, because I wanted to make sure that, before I got my hopes up, I got the story straight, "did Jesse tell you, Father Dom?"

"That you kissed." Father Dominic said the word so uncomfortably, you'd have thought there were tacks on the seat of his chair. "And I must say, Susannah, that I am disturbed that you said nothing of this to me the other day when we spoke. I have never been so disappointed in you.

It makes me wonder what else you are keeping from me - "

"I didn't tell you," I said, "because it was just one lousy kiss. And it happened weeks ago. And since then, nothing. I mean it, Father D." I wondered if he could hear the frustration in my voice, and found that I didn't even care. "Not even nothing. A big fat nothing."

"I thought you and I were close enough that you would share something of this magnitude with me," Father Dominic said all glumly.

"Magnitude?" I echoed, smashing the Silly Putty in my fist. "Father D., what magnitude? Nothing happened, okay?" Much to my everlasting disappointment. "I mean, not what you're thinking, anyway."

"I realize that," Father Dominic said gravely. "Jesse is far too honorable a young man to have taken advantage of the situation. However, you must know, Susannah, that I cannot in good conscience allow this to continue - "

"Allow what to continue, Father D.?" I could not believe I was even having this conversation. It was almost as if I had woken up in Bizarro World. "I told you, nothing - "

"I owe it to your parents," Father Dominic went on, as if I hadn't spoken, "to look out for your spiritual welfare as well as your physical well-being. And I have an obligation to Jesse, as well, as his confessor - "

"As his what?" I yelled, feeling as if I might fall out of my chair.

"There is no need to shout, Susannah. I believe that you heard me perfectly well." Father Dom looked about as miserable as I was just beginning to feel. "The fact is, that in light of ... well, the current situation, I have advised Jesse that he needs to move into the rectory."

Now I did fall out of my chair. Well, I didn't fall out of it, exactly. I tumbled out of it. I tried to leap, but my feet were too sore for leaping. I settled for lunging at Father Dom. Except that there was this huge desk separating us, so I couldn't, as I wanted, grab big handfuls of his vestments and shriek why? Why? in his face. Instead, I had to grip the edge of his desk very tightly and go, in the kind of shrill, girl voice I hate but couldn't stop emitting at that point, "The rectory? The rectory?"

"Yes, the rectory," Father Dominic said defensively. "He will be perfectly content there, Susannah. I know it will be difficult for him to adjust to spending his time somewhere other than - well, the place where he died. But we live very simply at the rectory. In many ways, it will be much like what Jesse was accustomed to when he was alive. ..."

I was really having a lot of trouble processing what I was hearing.

"And Jesse agreed to this?" I heard myself asking in that same shrill, girl's voice. Whose voice was that, anyway? Surely not my own. "Jesse said he'd do it?"

Father Dominic looked at me in a manner I can only describe as pitying.

"He did," he said. "And I am more sorry than I can say that you had to find out this way. But perhaps Jesse felt.. . and I must say, I agree with . .. that such a scene might . . . well, a girl of your temperament might . . . Well, you might have made it difficult. . . ."

And then, from out of nowhere, the tears came. My only warning was a sharp tingle in my nose. The next thing I knew, I was fighting back sobs.

Because I knew what Father Dom was trying to say. It was all there, in hideous black and white. Jesse didn't love me. Jesse had never loved me. That kiss - that kiss had been an experiment after all. Worse than an experiment. A mistake, even. A horrible, miserable mistake.

And now Jesse knew that I'd lied to him about Paul - knew that I'd lied to him, and worse, probably guessed why I'd lied . . . that I love him, that I'd always loved him, and didn't want to lose him - he was moving out, rather than telling me the truth, that he didn't return my feelings. Moving out! He would rather have moved out than have spent another day with me! That's the kind of pathetic loser I am!

I fell back into the chair in front of Father Dom's desk, weeping. I didn't even care what Father Dom thought - you know, about me crying over a guy. It wasn't like I could just stop loving Jesse now that I knew - for absolute sure, once and for all - that he didn't love me back.

"I d-don't understand," I said, into my hands. "What.. . what did I do wrong?"

Father Dominic's voice sounded gently harassed. "Nothing, Susannah. You did nothing wrong. It's just better this way. Surely you can see that."

Father Dominic really isn't very good at dealing with love affairs. Ghosts, yes. Girls who've had their hearts stomped on? Not so much.

Still, he did his best. He actually got up from behind the desk, came around it, and laid one of his hands over my shoulder and patted it kind of awkwardly.

I was surprised. Father D. wasn't a real touchy-feely guy.

"There, there, Susannah," he said. "There, there. It will be all right."

Except that it wouldn't. It would never be all right.

But Father Dom wasn't finished.

"You two cannot go on as you have been. Jesse's got to leave. It's the only way."

I couldn't help letting out a humorless laugh at that one.

"The only way? To make him leave home?" I asked, angrily reaching up to wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my suede jacket. And you know what salt water does to suede. That's how far gone I was. "I don't think so."

"It isn't his home, Susannah," Father D. said kindly. "It's your home. It was never Jesse's home. It was the boardinghouse where he was murdered."

Hearing the word murdered, I am sorry to say, only made me cry harder. Father D. responded by patting my shoulder some more.

"Come now," he said. "You've got to be adult about this, Susannah."

I said something unintelligible. Even I didn't know what it was.

"I have no doubt that you will handle this situation, Susannah," Father Dom said, "as you've handled all the others in your life, with . . . well, if not grace, then aplomb. And now you had better go. First period is nearly over."

But I didn't go. I just sat there, occasionally letting out a pathetic sniffle as the tears continued to stream down my face. I was glad I'd worn waterproof mascara that morning.

But Father D., instead of taking pity on me, the way a man of the cloth is supposed to do, only looked at me a little suspiciously. "Susannah," he said, "I hope ... I don't believe I have to ... well, I feel obligated to warn you. . . . You are a very headstrong girl, and I do hope you will remember what I spoke to you about once before. You are not to use your, er, feminine wiles on Jesse. I meant it then, and I mean it now. If you must cry about this, get it over with here in my office. But do not cry to Jesse. Don't make this harder on him than it already is. Do you understand?"

I stamped a foot, then, but as pain shot up my leg, instantly regretted the action.

"God," I said not very graciously. "What do you take me for? You think I'm going to beg him to stay or something? If he wants to go, that's fine by me. More than fine. I'm glad he's going." Then my voice caught on another traitorous sob. "But I just want you to know, it's not fair."

"Very little in life is fair, Susannah," Father Dominic said sympathetically. "But I shouldn't have to remind you that you have far, far more blessings in your life than many people. You are one very lucky girl."

"Lucky," I said with a bitter laugh. "Yeah, right."

Father Dominic looked at me. "You seem better now, Susannah," he said. "So perhaps you won't mind running along now. I have a lot of work to do concerning the feast tomorrow. . . ."

I thought about how much I hadn't told him. I mean, about Craig and Neil Jankow, not to mention Paul and Dr. Slaski and the shifters.

I should have told him about Paul. At the very least, I should have told him his whole fresh-start theory. Then again, maybe not. Paul was definitely up to no good, as my aching feet could attest.

But I was, 111 admit, a little bit peeved with Father Dominic. You would have thought he'd have shown me a little bit more compassion. I mean, he'd basically just broken my heart. Worse, he'd done it on Jesses order. Jesse didn't even have the guts to tell me to my face that he didn't love me. No, he had to make his "confessor" do it. Nice one. Really made me sorry I'd missed out on life in the eighteen fifties. Must have been sweet - everyone going around, making priests do their dirty work.

I couldn't, of course, run along, as Father Dom had suggested. I couldn't technically run anywhere. But I hobbled out of his office, feeling extremely sorry for myself. I was still crying - enough so that when Father D.'s secretary saw me, she went, with motherly concern, "Oh, hon. You all right? Here, have a tissue," which was a lot more comforting than anything Father D. had done for me in the past half hour.

I took the tissue and blew my nose, then took a few more for the road. I had a feeling I was going to be bawling my eyes out until at least third period.

Stepping out into the breezeway along the courtyard, I tried to get a hold of myself. Okay. So the guy didn't like me. Lots of guys hadn't liked me in the past, and I'd never lost it like this. And, okay, this was Jesse, the person I loved best in all the world. But, hey, if he didn't want me back, that was just fine. You know what it was? Yeah, it was his loss, that's what it was.

So why couldn't I stop crying?

What was I going to do without him? I mean, I had totally gotten used to having Jesse around all the time. And what about his cat? Was Spike going to go live at the rectory, too? I guess he would have to. I mean, that ugly cat loved Jesse as much as I did. Lucky cat, getting to go live with Jesse.

I wandered along the length of the breezeway, looking out at the sun-soaked courtyard without really seeing it. Maybe, I thought, Father D. was right. Maybe it was better this way. I mean, let's say, just for a minute, that Jesse liked me back. Better than liked me. Loved me, even. Where was it going to go? It was like Paul had said. What were we going to do? Date? Go to the movies together? I would have to pay, and it would just be for one ticket. And if anyone saw me, to all appearances sitting by myself, I would look like the biggest dork in the world. How lame.

What I needed, I realized, was a real boyfriend. Not just a guy people besides me could see, either, but a guy I liked, who actually liked me back. That was what I needed. That was exactly what I needed.

Because when Jesse found out about it, it might make him realize what a colossal mistake he had just made.

It's kind of funny that as I was thinking this, Paul Slater suddenly leaped out at me from behind a column, and went, "Hey."

14

"Go away," I said.

Because the truth was, I was still sort of crying, and Paul Slater was just about the last person in the world I wanted to see me doing so. I was totally hoping he wouldn't notice.

No such luck. Paul went, "What's with the waterworks?"

"Nothing," I said, wiping my eyes with my jacket sleeve. I'd used up all the tissues Father Dom's secretary had given me. "Just allergies."

Paul reached out and jerked my hand away. "Here, use this."

And he passed me, of all things, a white handkerchief he'd pulled from his pocket.

Funny how, with everything else that was going on, all I could focus on was that white square of material. "You carry a handkerchief?" I asked in a voice that cracked.

Paul shrugged. "You never know when you might need to gag someone."

This was so not the answer I expected that I couldn't help laughing a little. I mean, Paul creeped me out a little . . . okay, a lot. But he could still be funny sometimes.

I mopped up my tears with the handkerchief, more conscious than I wanted to be of the proximity of its owner. Paul was looking particularly delectable that morning in a charcoal cashmere sweater and a chocolate-brown leather coat. I couldn't help looking at his mouth and remembering how it felt on mine. Which was good. More than good.

Then my gaze drifted toward his eye, the one I'd jabbed. No mark. The guy didn't bruise easily.

I wished the same could be said of me. Or of my heart, anyway.

I don't know if Paul noticed the direction of my gaze - I suppose it had been pretty obvious I'd been staring at his mouth. But all of a sudden, he lifted his arms and placed both hands against the three-foot-wide column I'd been leaning against - one of the columns that hold the roof of the breezeway up - sort of pinioning me in between them.

"So, Suze," he said in a friendly way. "What did Father Dominic want to see you about?"

Even though I was definitely in the market for a boyfriend, I wasn't so sure Paul was the guy for me. I mean, yeah, he was hot and all, and there was the whole mediator thing.

But there was also that whole thing where he'd tried to kill me. It's kind of hard just to let something like that go.

So I was sort of torn as I stood there, imprisoned between his arms. On the one hand, I wouldn't have minded reaching up and dragging his head down and laying a big fat one on his mouth.

On the other hand, giving him a good swift kick in the groin seemed equally appealing, given what he'd put me through the other day, what with the hot pavement and the Hell's Angel and all.

I didn't end up doing either. I just stood there, my heart beating kind of hard inside my chest. This was, after all, the guy about whom I'd been having nightmares for the past few weeks. That kind of thing doesn't go away just because the guy put his tongue in your mouth and you sort of liked it.

"Don't worry; I said in a voice that didn't sound at all like my own, it was so hoarse from all the crying. I cleared my throat, then said, "I didn't tell Father Dom anything about you, if that's what you're worried about."

Paul visibly relaxed as my words soaked in. He even lifted one of his hands away from the wall and fingered a coil of my hair that had been curled against my shoulder.

"I like your hair better down," he said approvingly. "You should always wear it down."

I rolled my eyes in order to hide the fact that my heart rate, when he touched me, sped up considerably, and I started to duck beneath the one arm he still had caging me in.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, moving to corner me once more, this time by taking a step closer, so that our faces were only about three inches apart. His breath, I was close enough to note, still smelled of whatever toothpaste he'd used that morning.

Jesse's breath never smells like anything, because, of course, he's not alive.

"Paul," I said in what I hoped was an even, completely toneless voice. "Really. Not here, okay?"

"Fine." He didn't move away, though. "Where, then?"

"Oh, God, Paul." I lifted a hand to my forehead. It felt hot. But I knew I didn't have a fever. Why was I so hot? It was cool in the breezeway. Was it Paul? Was it Paul who was making me feel this way? "I don't know, okay? Look, I have ... I have a lot of stuff I have to figure out right now. Could you just . . . could you just leave me alone for a while, so I can think?"

"Sure," he said. "Did you get the flowers?"

"I got the flowers," I said. Whatever it was that was making me feel so feverish also forced me to add, even though I didn't want to, since all I wanted to do was run away and hide in the girls' room until it was time for classes to change, "But if you think I'm going to forget about what you did to me, just because you sent me a bunch of dumb flowers - "

"I said I was sorry, Suze," Paul said. "And I'm more sorry about your feet than I can say. You should have let me drive you home. I wouldn't have tried anything, I swear."

"Oh, yeah?" I looked up at him. He was a head taller than me, but his lips were still only inches from mine. I could meet them with my own without much of a problem. Not that I was going to. I didn't think. "What do you call what you're doing now?"

"Suze," he said, playing with my hair again. His breath tickled my cheek. "How else am I going to get you to talk to me? You've got this totally mistaken impression of me. You think I'm some kind of bad guy. And I'm not. I'm really not. I'm . . . well, I'm a lot like you, actually."

"Somehow, I seriously doubt that," I said. His proximity was making it difficult to talk. And not because he was scaring me. He still scared me, but in a different way now.

"It's true," he said. "I mean, we actually have a lot in common. Not just the mediator thing, either. I think our philosophy of life is the same. Well, except for the whole part where you want to help people. But that's just guilt. In every other way, you and I are identical. I mean, we're both cynical and mistrustful of others. Almost to the point of being misanthropic, I would go so far to say. We're old souls, Suze. We've both been around the block before. Nothing surprises us, and nothing impresses us. At least - " his ice-blue gaze bore into mine " - nothing until now. In my case, anyway."

"That may very well be, Paul," I said, as patronizingly as I was able - which wasn't very, I'm afraid, because his closeness was making it very difficult to breathe. "The only problem is, the person I mistrust most in the world? That'd be you."

"I don't know why," Paul said. "When we're clearly meant for each other. I mean, just because you met Jesse first - "

"Don't." The word burst from me like an explosion. I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand hearing his name... not from those lips. "Paul, I'm warning you - "

Paul laid a single finger over my mouth.

"Shhh," he said. "Don't say things you'll only regret later."

"I am not going to regret saying this," I said, my lips moving against his finger. "You - "

"You don't mean it," Paul said confidently, sliding his finger from my mouth, over the curve of my chin, and down the side of my neck. "You're just scared. Scared to admit your true feelings. Scared to admit that I might know a few things you and wise old Gandalf, aka Father Dominic, might not. Scared to admit I might be right, and that you aren't as completely committed to your precious Jesse as you'd like to think. Come on, 'fess up. You felt something when I kissed you the other day. Don't deny it."

Felt something the other day? I was feeling something now, and all he was doing was running the tip of his finger down my neck. It wasn't right that this guy I hated - and I did hate him, I did - could make me feel this way. . . .

. . . while the guy I loved could make me feel like such absolute -

Paul was leaning so close to me now, his chest brushed the front of my sweater.

"You want to try it again?" he asked. His mouth moved until it was only about an inch from mine. "A little experiment?"

I don't know why I didn't let him. Kiss me again, I mean. I wanted him to. There wasn't a nerve in my body that didn't want him to. After being dissed so hard back there in Father Dom's office, it would have been nice to know someone - anyone - wanted me. Even a guy of whom I'd once been deathly afraid.

Maybe there was a part of me that still feared him. Or what he could do to me. Maybe that was what was making my heart beat so fast.

Whatever it was, I didn't let him kiss me. I couldn't. Not then. And not there. I craned my neck trying to keep my mouth out of his reach.

"Let's not," I said tensely. "I am having a very bad day, Paul. I would really appreciate it if you would back off - "

On the words back off, I laid both hands on his chest and shoved him away from me as hard as I could.

Paul, not expecting this, staggered backward.

"Whoa," he said, when he'd regained his balance - and his composure. "What's the matter with you, anyway?"

"Nothing," I said, twisting his handkerchief in my fingers. "I just ... I just got some bad news, is all."

"Oh, yeah?" This had clearly been the wrong thing to say to Paul, since now he looked positively intrigued, which meant he might never go away. "Like what? Rico Suave dump you?"

The sound that came out of me when he said that was a cross between a gasp and a sob. I don't know where it came from. It seemed to have been ripped from my chest by some unseen force. It startled Paul almost as much as it did me.

"Whoa," he said again, this time in a different tone. "Sorry. I... Did he? Did he really?"

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. I wished Paul would go away - shut up and go away. But he seemed incapable of doing either.

"I kind of thought," he said, "that there might be trouble in paradise when he never showed up to kick my ass after, you know, what happened at my house."

I managed to find my voice. It sounded ragged, but at least it worked. "I don't need Jesse," I said, "to fight my battles for me."

"You mean you didn't tell him," Paul said. "About you and me, I mean."

When I looked away, he said, "It has to be that. You didn't tell him. Unless you did tell him, and he just doesn't care. Is that it, Suze?"

"I have to get to class," I said, and turned around hastily to do just that.

Only Paul's voice stopped me.

"Question is, why didn't you tell him? Could it be because maybe, deep down, you're afraid to? Because maybe, deep down, you felt something . . . something you don't want to admit, even to yourself?"

I spun around.

"Or maybe," I said, "deep down, I didn't want a murder on my hands. Did you ever think about that, Paul? Because Jesse already doesn't like you very much. If I told him what you did to me - or tried to do to me, anyway - he'd kill you."

This was, as I knew only too well, a complete fabrication. But Paul didn't know that.

Still, he didn't take it the way I'd meant him to.

"See," Paul said with a grin. "You must like me a little, or you'd have gone ahead and let him."

I started to say something, realized the futility of it all, and spun around again to leave.

Only this time, classroom doors all around me were being flung open, and students started streaming out into the breezeway. There is no bell system at the Mission Academy - the trustees don't want to disturb the serenity of the courtyard or basilica by having a claxon ring every hour on the hour - so we just change classes every time the big hand reaches twelve. First period was, I realized, as the hordes started to mill around me, over.

"Well, Suze?" Paul asked, staying where he was, in spite of the sea of humanity darting past him. "Is that it? You don't want me dead. You want me around. Because you like me. Admit it."

I shook my head incredulously. It was, I realized, hopeless to argue with the guy. He was just too full of himself ever to listen to anyone else's point of view.

And then, of course, there was the little fact that he was right.

"Oh, Paul, there you are." Kelly Prescott came up to him, flinging her honey-blond hair around. "I've been looking for you everywhere. Listen, I was thinking, about the voting, you know, at lunchtime. Why don't you and I stroll around the yard, passing out candy bars. You know, to remind people. To vote, I mean."

Paul wasn't paying any attention whatsoever to Kelly, though. His ice-blue gaze was still on me.

"Well, Suze?" he called, above the clanging of locker doors and the hum of conversation - though we were supposed to be quiet during period changes, so as not to disturb the tourists. "Are you going to admit it or not?"

"You," I said, shaking my head, "are in need of intensive psychotherapy."

Then I started to walk past them.

"Paul." Kelly was tugging on Paul's leather coat now, darting nervous glances at me the whole time. "Paul. Hello. Earth to Paul. The election. Remember? The election? This afternoon?"

Then Paul did something that would, I realized soon after, go down in the annals of the Mission Academy - and not just because CeeCee saw it, too, and filed it away for later reporting in the Mission Bell. No, Paul did something no one, with the possible exception of me, had ever done in the whole of the eleven years Kelly had been attending the school:

He dissed her.

"Why can't you," he said, pulling his coat out from beneath her fingers, "leave me alone for five freaking minutes?"

Kelly, as stunned as if he had slapped her, went, "W-what?"

"You heard me," Paul said. Though he did not seem to be aware of it, everyone in the breezeway had stopped what they were doing suddenly, just so they could watch what he'd do next. "I am freaking sick of you and this stupid election and this stupid school. Got me? Now get out of my sight, before I say something I might regret."

Kelly blinked as if her contact lens had slipped out. "Paul!" she said with a gasp. "But. . . but. . . the election . . . the candy bars . . ."

Paul just looked at her. "You can take your candy bars," he said, "and stick them up your - "

"Mr. Slater!" One of the novices, who are assigned to patrol the breezeway between classes to make sure none of us gets too noisy, pounced on Paul. "Get to the principal's office, this instant!"

Paul suggested something to the novice that I was quite sure was going to earn him a suspension, if not expulsion. It was so inflammatory, in fact, that even / blushed on his behalf, and / have three stepbrothers, two of whom use that kind of language regularly when their father isn't around.

The novice burst into tears and went running for Father Dominic. Paul looked after her fleeing, black-gowned little figure, then at Kelly, who was also crying. Then he looked at me.

There was a lot in that look. Anger, impatience, disgust.

But most of all - and I do not think I was mistaken about this - there was hurt. Seriously. Paul was hurt by what I'd said to him.

It had never occurred to me that Paul could be hurt.

Maybe what I had said to Jesse - about Paul being lonely - had been right after all. Maybe the guy really did just need a friend.

But he certainly wasn't making many at the Mission Academy, that was for sure.

A second later, he'd broken eye contact with me, turned around, and strode out of the school. Shortly after that, I heard the rev of the engine of his convertible and then the squeal of his tires on the asphalt of the parking lot.

And Paul was gone.

"Well," CeeCee said with no small amount of relish as she came up to me. "Guess that takes care of the election, doesn't it?"

Then she held up my wrist, prizefighter-style. "All hail Madam Vice President!"

15

Paul didn't come back to school that day.

Not that anybody expected him to. A sort of all-points bulletin went through the eleventh grade, stating that, if Paul did come back, he would be put on automatic suspension for a week. Debbie Mancuso heard it from a sixth-grader who heard it from the secretary in Father Dom's office while she was there handing in a late pass.

It seemed the best thing that Paul stayed away until things cooled down a little. The novice he'd cursed at was rumored to have gone into hysterics, and had had to go lie down in the nurse's office with a cool compress across her forehead until she recovered. I had seen Father Dom looking grim faced, pacing around in front of the nurse's office door. I'd thought about going up to him and being all, "Told you so."

But it seemed too much like shooting fish in a barrel, so I stayed away.

Besides, I was still mad at him about the whole Jesse thing. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. It was like the two of them had conspired against me. Like I was just a stupid sixteen-year-old girl with a crush they'd had to figure out some way to handle. Stupid Jesse was too scared even to tell me to my face he didn't like me. What did he think I was going to do, anyway? Pop him one in the face? Well, I sure felt like it now.

In between feeling like I just wanted to curl up somewhere and die.

I guess I wasn't alone in feeling that way. Kelly Prescott seemed to be feeling pretty bad, too. She handled her victimhood better than I did, though. She very dramatically tore the Slater part of the wrapper off all the candy bars she had left. Then she wrote Simon on the inside foil with a Sharpie instead. It appeared she and I were running mates once again.

I won the vice presidency of the Junipero Serra Mission Academy junior class unanimously, except for a single write-in vote for Brad Ackerman. Nobody wondered very much who could have voted for Brad. He hadn't even tried to disguise his handwriting.

Everyone forgave him, though, on account of the party he was throwing later that night. Guests had been instructed not to arrive until after ten, at which point it was determined that Jake, getting off his shift at Peninsula Pizza, would arrive with the keg and several dozen 'zas. Andy and my mom had left a note on the refrigerator that morning listing where they could be reached and forbidding us from having guests over while they were gone. Brad had found it particularly hilarious.

For my part, I had more important things to worry about than a stupid hot tub party.

Except that CeeCee and Adam wanted to go out after school to celebrate my victory - which really had turned out to be a hollow one, since my adversary had basically been kicked out of school. But Adam produced a bottle of sparkling cider for the occasion, and I couldn't say no to that, of course. He and CeeCee had both worked so hard on my campaign, to which I had contributed exactly nothing - well, except for a single slogan. I felt guilty enough that I rode with them to the beach after school, and stayed there long enough to toast the sunset, a custom dating back to the first time I'd won a student election, way back when I'd first moved to Carmel, eight months earlier.

When I got home, I discovered several things. One: some of the guests had started arriving early, among them Debbie Mancuso, who had always had a bit of a crush on Brad, ever since the night I caught the two of them making out in the pool house one time at Kelly Prescott's. And two: she knew all about Jesse.

Or at least she thought she did.

"So who's this guy Brad says you're seeing, Suze?" she wanted to know, as she stood at the kitchen counter, artfully stacking plastic cups in preparation for the keg's arrival. Brad was outside with a couple of his cronies, giving the hot tub a heavy dose of chlorine, no doubt in anticipation of all the bacteria it was going to become filled with, once some of his more unsavory friends slid into it.

Debbie was in full-on party wear, which included a midriff-baring halter top and these balloony harem pants that I guess she thought hid the size of her butt, which was not small, but that really only made it look bigger. I don't like to be disparaging of members of my own sex, but Debbie Mancuso really was a bit of a parasite. She had been sucking Kelly dry for years. I just hoped she wouldn't turn her suckers on me next.

"Just a guy," I said coolly, moving past her to get a diet soda from the fridge. I was going to need a heavy-duty caffeine buzz, I knew, to fortify myself for the evening - first confronting Jesse, then the party.

"Does he go to RLS?" Debbie wanted to know.

"No," I said, cracking open the soda. Brad had, I saw, removed the note from Andy and my mom. Well, it was a little embarrassing, I guess. "He isn't in high school."

Debbie's eyes widened. She was impressed. "Really? He's in college, then? Does Jake know him?"

"No," I said.

When I did not elaborate, Debbie went, "That was really weird today, huh? About that Paul guy, I mean."

"Yeah," I said. I wondered whether or not Jesse was upstairs, waiting for me, or if he was just going to leave without saying good-bye. The way things had been going lately, I was betting on the latter.

"I kind of ... I mean, some of the girls were saying ..." Debbie, never the most articulate of people, seemed to be having more trouble than usual spitting out what she wanted to say. "That that Paul guy seems to ... like you."

"Yeah?" I smiled without warmth. "Well, at least someone does."

Then I drifted up the stairs to my room.

On my way up, I met David, coming down. He was carrying a sleeping bag, backpack, and the laptop he had won at computer camp for designing the most progressive video game. Max trailed on a leash behind him.

"Where are you going?" I asked him.

"Todd's house," he said. Todd was David's best friend. "He said Max and I could stay the night. I mean, it's not like anybody's going to be able to get any sleep around here tonight."

"A wise decision," I said approvingly.

"You should do the same thing," David suggested. "Stay over at CeeCee's."

"I would," I said, saluting him with my soda. "But I have a little business to attend to here."

David shrugged. "Okay. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Then he and Max continued down the stairs.

I was not surprised to find that Jesse was not in my room when I got there. Coward. I kicked off my slides, went into the bathroom, and locked the door. Not that locked doors make any difference to ghosts. And not that Jesse was going to show up anyway. I just felt more secure that way.

Then I ran a bath, undressed, and sank into it, letting the warm water caress my battered feet and soothe my tired body. Too bad there was nothing I could do to comfort my aching heart. Chocolate might have helped, maybe, but I didn't happen to have any in my bathroom.

The worst part of it all was that, deep down, I knew Father Dom was right about Jesse's moving out. It was better this way. I mean, what was the alternative? That he stayed here, and I just kept pining away for him? Unrequited love is all right in books and things, but in real life, it completely sucks.

It was just that - "and this was the part that hurt the most - I could have sworn, all those weeks ago when he'd kissed me, that he'd felt something for me. Really. And I'm not talking about what I'd felt for Paul, which was, let's face it, lust. I'm warm for the guy's form, 111 admit it. But I don't love him.

I'd been so sure - so, so sure - that Jesse loved me.

But, obviously, I'd been wrong. Well, I was wrong most of the time. So what else was new?

After I'd soaked for a while, I got out of the tub. I rebandaged my feet, then slid into my most comfortable, hole-filled jeans, the ones my mom told me I was never allowed to wear in public and was always threatening to throw away, coupled with a faded black silk T.

Then I walked back into my room, and found Jesse sitting in his usual place on the window seat, Spike on his lap.

He knew. I saw with a single glance that he knew Father Dom had talked to me and that he was just waiting - warily - to see what my reaction was going to be.

Not wanting to disappoint him, I said very politely, "Oh, you're still here? I thought you would have moved to the rectory by now."

"Susannah," he said. His voice was as low as Spikes got when he growled at Max through my bedroom door.

"Don't let me stop you," I said. "I hear there's going to be a lot of action over at the mission tonight. You know, getting ready for the big feast tomorrow. Lots of pinatas left to stuff, I hear. You should have a blast."

I heard the words coming out of my mouth, but I swear I don't know where they were coming from. I had told myself, back in the tub, that I was going to be mature and sensible about the whole thing. And here I was being peevish and childish, and it wasn't even a minute into the conversation.

"Susannah," Jesse said, standing up. "You must know it's better this way."

"Oh," I said with a shrug to show him how very, very unconcerned I was with the whole thing. "Sure. Give my regards to Sister Ernestine."

He just stood there, looking at me. I couldn't read his expression. If I'd ever been able to, I'd have known better than to have let myself fall in love with him. You know, on account of the whole his-not-loving-me-back thing. His eyes were dark - as dark as Paul's were light - and inscrutable.

"So that's all," he said, sounding, for reasons I couldn't begin to fathom, angry. "That's all you have to say to me?"

I couldn't believe it. He had some gall! Imagine, him being mad at me't

"Yes," I said. Then I remembered something. "Oh, no, wait."

The dark eyes flashed. "Yes?"

"Craig," I said. "I forgot about Craig. How is he doing?"

The dark eyes were hooded once again. Jesse seemed almost disappointed. As if he had anything to feel disappointed about! / was the one whose heart was being ripped out of her chest.

"He's the same," Jesse said. "Unhappy about being dead. If you want, I can have Father Dominic - "

"Oh," I said. "I think you and Father Dominic have done quite enough. I’ll handle Craig, I think, on my own."

"Fine," Jesse said shortly.

"Fine," I said.

"Well. . . ." The dark-eyed gaze bore into mine. "Good-bye, Susannah."

"Yeah," I said. "See you around."

But Jesse didn't move. Instead, he did something I completely was not expecting. He reached one hand out and touched my face.

"Susannah," he said. His dark eyes - each one containing a tiny star of white where my bedroom light reflected off them - bore into mine. "Susannah, I - "

Only I never did find out what Jesse was going to say next, because the door to my bedroom suddenly swung open.

"Pardon me for interrupting," Paul Slater said.

16

Paul. I had forgotten all about him. Forgotten about him and just what, exactly, he and I had been up to these past few days.

Which was a lot of stuff I did not particularly want Jesse to know about.

"Knock much?" I asked Paul, hoping he would not notice the panic in my voice as Jesse and I pulled apart.

"Well," Paul said, looking pretty smug for a guy who'd been suspended from school that day. "I heard all the hilarity and figured you had guests. I didn't realize, of course, that you were entertaining Mr. De Silva."

Jesse, I saw, was meeting Paul's sardonic gaze with a pretty hostile stare of his own. "Slater."

Jesse said in a not particularly friendly voice.

"Jesse," Paul said pleasantly. "How are you this evening?"

"I was doing better," Jesse said, "before you got here."

Paul's dark eyebrows rose, as if he were surprised to hear this. "Really? Suze didn't tell you the news, then?"

"What n - " Jesse started to ask, but I interrupted quickly.

"About the shifting?" I actually stepped in front of Jesse, as if by doing so I could shield him from what I had a very bad feeling Paul was about to do. "And the soul transference thing? No, I haven't had a chance to tell Jesse about all that yet. But I will. Thanks for stopping by."

Paul just grinned at me. And something about that grin made my heart rate speed up all over again.. . .

And not because anyone was trying to kiss me, either.

"That's not why I'm here," Paul said, showing all of his very white teeth.

I felt Jesse tense beside me. Both he and Spike were behaving with extraordinary antagonism toward Paul. Spike had leaped onto the windowsill and, all his fur standing up, was growling at Paul pretty loudly. Jesse wasn't being quite that obvious about his contempt for the guy, but I figured it was only a matter of time.

"Well, if you're here for Brad's party," I said quickly, "you seem to be a little lost. It's downstairs, not up here."

"I'm not here for the party, either," Paul said. "I came by to return this to you." He dug into the pocket of his jeans and extracted something small and dark from it. "You left it in my bedroom the other day."

I looked down at what he held in his outstretched palm. It was my tortoiseshell hair clip, the one I'd been missing. But not since I'd been in his room. I'd been missing it since Monday morning, the first day of school. I must have dropped it then, and he'd picked it up.

Picked it up and held it all week, just so he could fling it in Jesse's face, as he was doing now.

And ruin my life. Because that's what Paul was. Not a mediator. Not a shifter. A miner.

A quick glance at Jesse showed me that those casually uttered words - You left it in my bedroom the other day - had hit home, all right. Jesse looked as if he'd been punched in the stomach.

I knew how he felt. Paul had that effect on people.

"Thanks," I said, snatching the hair clip from his hand. "But I dropped it at school, not your place.

"Are you sure?" Paul smiled at me. It was amazing how guileless he could look when he wanted to. "I could have sworn you left it in my bed."

The fist came out of nowhere. I swear I didn't see it coming. One minute I was standing there, wondering how in the world I was going to explain this one to Jesse, and the next thing I knew, Jesse's fist was plowing into Paul's face.

Paul hadn't seen it coming, either. Otherwise he would have ducked. Taken completely off guard, he went spinning right into my dressing table. Perfume and nail polish bottles rained down as Paul's body collided heavily with the ruffle-skirted desk.

"All right," I said, stepping quickly between them again. "Okay. Enough. Jesse, he's just trying to get a rise out of you. It was nothing, all right? I went over to his house because he said he knew some stuff about something called soul transference. I thought maybe it was something that might help you. But I swear, that's all it was. Nothing happened."

"Nothing happened," Paul said, his voice filled with amusement as he climbed to his feet. Blood was dripping from his nose all over the front of his shirt, but he didn't seem to notice. "Tell me something, Jesse. Does she sigh when you kiss her, too?"

I wanted to kill him myself. How could he? How could he?

The real question, of course, was how could I? How could I have been so stupid as to have let him kiss me like that? Because I had let him - I had even kissed him back. None of this would be happening if I had exercised a little more self-restraint.

I had been hurt, and I had been angry, and I had been, let's face it, lonely.

Just like Paul.

But I had never purposefully meant to hurt anyone.

This time Jesse's fist sent him spinning into the window seat, where Spike, not too happy about anything that was going on, let out a hiss and bounded out through the open window onto the porch roof. Paul landed facedown in the cushions. When he lifted his head, I saw blood all over the velvet throw pillows.

"That's enough," I said again, grabbing Jesse's arm as he pulled it back to land another blow. "God, Jesse, can't you see what he's doing? He's just trying to make you mad. Don't give him the satisfaction."

"That is not what I am trying to do," Paul said from the floor. He had rolled his head back against the blood-smeared cushion and was pinching the bridge of his nose to stem the tide of blood that was flowing more or less freely from it. "I am trying to point out to Jesse here that you need a real boyfriend. I mean, come on. How long do you think it's going to last? Suze, I didn't tell you before, but I'll tell* you now because I know what you've been thinking. Soul transference only works if you toss out the soul that's currently occupying a body, then throw someone else's into it. In other words, it's murder. And I'm sorry, but you don't strike me as much of a murderer. Your boy Jesse's going to have to step into the light one of these days. You're just holding him back - "

I felt Jesse's arm move convulsively, and so I threw all my weight on it.

"Shut up, Paul," I said.

"And what about you, Jesse? I mean, what the hell can you give her?" Paul was laughing now, in spite of the blood that was still dripping from his face. "You can't even pay for her to have a damned cup of coffee - "

Jesse exploded from my grasp. That's the only way I can describe it. One minute he was there, and the next he was on top of Paul, and the two of them had their hands wrapped around each other's necks. They went crashing to the floor with enough force to jolt the entire house.

Not, I was certain, that anyone could hear them. Brad had turned on the stereo downstairs, and music was now pulsing up through the walls. Hip-hop - Brad's favorite. I was certain the neighbors were going to enjoy being lulled to sleep tonight by its dulcet tones.

On the floor, Jesse and Paul rolled around. I thought about smashing something over their heads. The thing is, they were both so hardheaded, it probably wouldn't do any good. Reasoning with them hadn't helped. I had to do something. They were going to kill each other, and it was all going to be my fault. My own stupid fault.

I don't know what put the idea of the fire extinguisher in my head. I was standing there, watching in dismay as Jesse sent Paul crashing very hard into my bookshelf, when suddenly I was just like, Oh, yeah. The fire extinguisher. I turned around and left my room, hurrying down the stairs, the pulse of the music getting louder and louder - and the sounds of the fight going on in my room growing farther away - with each step.

Downstairs, Brad's party was in full swing. Dozens of scantily clad, gyrating bodies crowded the living room, dancing to the beat. Half of them I didn't even recognize. Then I realized that was because they were Jake's friends from college. In my hurry I saw Neil Jankow holding on to one of those blue plastic cups Debbie Mancuso had been stacking so carefully on the kitchen counter. He sloshed foam everywhere as I tore past him.

So Jake, I knew now, had arrived with the keg.

I had to flatten myself against the wall just to make it past the people crammed in the hallway to the kitchen. Once I got there, I saw that it, too, was packed with people I had never seen before. A glance out the sliding glass doors revealed that the hot tub, which had been designed to hold a total of eight people, was currently holding close to thirty, most of whom were straddling one another. It was like my house had suddenly become the Playboy Mansion. I couldn't believe it.

I found the fire extinguisher under the sink, where Andy kept it in case of grease fires on the stove. I had to shout "excuse me" until I was hoarse before anybody would move enough to let me back out into the hallway. When I finally got there, I was shocked to hear someone screaming my name. I turned around, and there, to my utter astonishment, stood CeeCee and Adam.

"What are you doing here?" I yelled at them.

"We were invited," CeeCee yelled back - a little defensively, I noticed. I guessed that maybe the two of them had been getting some weird looks. They did not travel in the same social circle as my stepbrother Brad, by any means.

"Look," Adam said, holding up one of Brad's flyers. "We're legit."

"Well, great," I said. "Have fun. Listen, I have kind of a situation upstairs - "

"We'll come with you," CeeCee shouted. "It's too noisy down here."

It was not, I knew, going to be any quieter in my room. Plus there was the whole thing about Paul Slater fighting the ghost of my would-be boyfriend in there.

"Stay here," I told them. I'll be back in a minute."

Adam, however, noticed the fire extinguisher and said, "Cool! Special effects!" and started after me.

There was nothing I could do. I mean, I had to get back upstairs if I was going to keep Paul and Jesse from killing each other - or at least Jesse from killing Paul, since Jesse, of course, was already dead. CeeCee and Adam were going to have to deal with whatever they might see if they followed me.

I had hoped I might lose them on the stairs, but those hopes were dashed when, upon finally reaching the staircase, I saw Paul and Jesse tumbling down it.

That's what I saw, anyway. The two of them locked in a life-and-death struggle, rolling down the stairs on top of each other, each holding fistfuls of the other's clothing.

That's not what CeeCee and Adam - or anyone else who happened to be looking at that point - saw. What they saw was Paul Slater, bloody and bruised, falling down my stairs and seemingly hitting - well, himself.

"Oh, my God!" CeeCee cried, as Paul - she couldn't see that Jesse was there, too - crashed heavily at her feet. "Suze! What's going on?"

Jesse recovered himself before Paul did. He climbed to his feet, reached down, seized Paul by the arms, and pulled him up - just so he could hit him again.

That was not what CeeCee, Adam, and everyone else who happened to be looking in the direction of the stairs at that moment saw. What they saw was Paul jerked up by some unseen force and then thrown, by an invisible blow, across the room.

Much of the gyrating stopped. The music pounded on, but nobody was dancing anymore. Everybody was just standing there, staring at Paul.

"Oh, my God," CeeCee cried. "Is he on drugs?"

Adam shook his head. "It would explain a lot about that guy," he said.

Jake, meanwhile, apparently alerted by someone, pushed his way into the living room, took one look at Paul, writhing on the floor - with Jesses hands around his neck, though I was the only one who could see this - and went, "Aw, Jesus."

Then, seeing me standing with the fire extinguisher in my hands, Jake strode over, took it away from me, and sent a jet of foamy white stuff spraying in Paul's direction.

It didn't do any good, really. All it did was cause the two of them to roll into the dining room - making a good many people jump out of the way - then crash into my mothers china cabinet - which of course teetered and fell, smashing all the plates inside.

Jake looked stunned. "What the hell is wrong with that guy? Is he wasted or what?"

Neil Jankow, who'd been standing nearby with his cup of beer still in his hand, said, "Maybe he's having a seizure. Somebody better call an ambulance."

Jake looked alarmed.

"No," he cried. "No, no cops! Nobody call the cops!"

At least, that's what he was saying right up until Jesse threw Paul through the sliding glass door to the deck.

It was the shower of glass that finally alerted all the people in the hot tub to the life-and-death battle that had been taking place inside. Screaming, they struggled to get out of the way of Paul's flailing body, only to find their escape dangerously impeded by shards of broken glass. Being barefooted, the people in the hot tub had nowhere to go as Paul and Jesse battered each other around the deck.

Brad, one of the people trapped in the hot tub - Debbie Mancuso hanging off him like a pilot fish - stared disbelievingly at the gaping hole where the sliding glass door had been. Then he thundered, "Slater! You are paying for a new door, you freak!"

Paul, however, wasn't in a position to be paying much attention. That's because he was struggling just to breathe. Jesse had him by the neck and was holding him over the side of the hot tub.

"Are you going to stay away from her?" Jesse demanded, as the lights from the Jacuzzi bottom cast them in an eery blue glow.

Paul gurgled, "No way."

Jesse dunked Paul's head beneath the water and held it there.

Neil, who'd followed Jake out onto the deck, pointed and cried, "Now he's trying to drown himself! Ackerman, you better do something, and quick."

"Jesse," I cried. "Let him go. It's not worth it."

CeeCee looked around. "Jesse?" she echoed confusedly. "He's here?"

Jesse was distracted enough that he loosened his hold somewhat, and Jake, with Neil's help, was able to pull Paul up, gasping for air, with blood now mingling with chlorinated water all down his shirt front.

I couldn't take it anymore. "You have to stop it," I said to Jesse and Paul. "That's enough. You've wrecked my house. You've made a mess of each other. And - " I added this last as I looked around and saw all the curious, half-frightened gazes aimed at me " - I think you've pretty much destroyed what little good reputation I once had."

Before either Jesse or Paul could reply, however, another voice broke in.

"I can't believe," Craig Jankow said, materializing to the left of his brother, "that you guys had a kegger, and no one invited me. Seriously," Craig continued, as I threw him an incredulous look, "this is some good stuff. You mediators really know how to throw a party."

Jesse wasn't paying any attention to the latecomer, however. He said to Paul, "Don't come near her again. Do you understand?"

"Eat me," Paul suggested.

Back he went into the hot tub with a splash.

Jesse ripped him right out of Jake's grip.

The surprise was, this time Neil went under with Paul. That's because Craig, a quick learner, had decided to go ahead and follow through with his whole if-I'm-dead-my-brother-should-be-too thing, now that Jesse had shown him how.

"Neil!" Jake cried, trying to pull both Paul and his friend - who, as far as he knew, had inexplicably plunged into the hot tub face first - up from the bottom of the Jacuzzi. What he didn't know, of course, was that ghostly hands were holding both of them down.

I knew it, though. I also knew that there wasn't anything any of us could do to get them to let go. Ghosts have superhuman strength. There was no way any of us were going to get those two to give up their victims. Not until they were as dead as ... well, as their killers.

Which was why I knew I was going to have to do something I really didn't want to do. I just didn't see any way out of it. Threats hadn't worked. Brute force hadn't worked. There was only one way.

But I really, really didn't want to take it. My chest was tight with fear. I could hardly breathe, I was so scared. I mean, the last time I'd been to that place, I'd nearly died. And I had no way of knowing whether or not Paul had told me the truth. What if I tried what he'd said, and I ended up somewhere even worse than where I'd ended up before?

Although it would be hard to imagine any place worse.

Still, what choice did I have? None.

I just really, really didn't want to take it.

But I guess we don't always get what we want.

My heart in my throat, I thrust my hands into the hot, churning water, and grabbed twin handfuls of shirt. I didn't even know whose clothes I had hold of. All I knew was, this was the only way I could think of to prevent a murder.

Then I closed my eyes and pictured that place in my head I had hoped never to see again.

And when I opened my eyes, I was there.

17

I wasn't alone. Paul was with me. And Craig Jankow, too.

"What the . . . ?" Craig looked up and down the long dark hallway, as eerily silent as Brad's party had been loud. "Where the hell are we?"

"Where you should have gone a long time ago," Paul said, carefully brushing lint off his shirt - though, since this was an alternative plane, and only his consciousness, not his actual body, was on it, there was no lint to brush. To me, Paul said with a smile, "Nice work, Suze. And on your first try, too."

"Shut up." I was in no mood for pleasantries. I was somewhere I really, really didn't want to be ... a place that, every time I returned to in my nightmares, left me feeling completely physically and emotionally drained. A place that sucked the life out of me .. . not to mention my courage. "I'm not exactly happy about this."

"I can tell." Paul reached up and felt his nose. Since we were in the spirit world, and not the actual one, it was no longer bleeding. His clothes weren't wet, either. "You know the fact that we're up here means that our bodies, down there, are unconscious."

"I know," I said, glancing nervously up and down the long, fog-enshrouded hallway. Just like in my dreams, I couldn't see what was at either end. It was just a line of doors that seemed to go on forever.

"Well," Paul said, "that should get Jesses attention, anyway. Your suddenly dropping off into a coma, I mean."

"Shut up," I said again. I felt like crying. I really did. And I hate crying. Almost more than I hate falling into bottomless pits. "This is all your fault. You shouldn't have antagonized him."

"And you," Paul said with a spark of anger, "shouldn't go around kissing - "

"Excuse me," Craig interrupted. "But could somebody maybe tell me exactly what - "

"Shut up," Paul and I said to him, at the exact same time.

Then, to Paul, I said, a catch in my voice, "Look, I'm sorry about what happened at your house. Okay? I lost my head. But that doesn't mean that there is anything going on between us."

"You lost your head," Paul repeated tonelessly.

"That's right," I said. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. I did not like this place. I didn't like the white plumes of fog that were licking my legs. I didn't like the tomblike stillness. And I especially didn't like that I couldn't see more than a few feet in front of me. Who knew where the floor might drop off from underneath?

"What if I want there to be something between us?" he asked.

"Too bad," I said shortly.

He glanced over at Craig, who was beginning to wander down the hall, regarding the closed doors on either side of him with interest.

"What about shifting?" Paul asked.

"What about it?"

"I told you how to do it, didn't I? Well, there's other stuff I can show you. Stuff you've never even dreamed you could do."

I blinked at him. I thought back to what he'd said that afternoon in his bedroom, about soul transference. There was a part of me that wanted to know what that was all about. There was a part of me that wanted to know about this very, very badly.

But there was an equally big part of me that wanted nothing whatsoever to do with Paul Slater.

"Come on, Suze," Paul went on. "You know you're dying to know. All your life you've been wondering who - or what - you really are. And I'm telling you, I have the answers. I know. And I'll teach you, if you'll let me."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "And what do you get out of this magnanimous offer of yours?" I wanted to know.

"The pleasure of your company," he said with a smile.

He said it casually, but I knew there was nothing casual about it at all. Which was why, in spite of how much I was dying to find out more about all the other stuff he claimed to know, I was reluctant to accept his offer. Because there was a catch. And the catch was that I was going to have to spend time with Paul Slater.

But it might be worth it. Almost. And not because I'd finally be getting some insight into the true nature of our so-called gift, but because I might, at last, be able to guarantee Jesse's safety ... at least where Paul was concerned.

"Okay," I said.

To say Paul looked surprised would have been the understatement of the year. But before he could say anything, I added, gruffly, "But Jesse is off-limits to you. I really mean it. No more insults. No more fights. And no more exorcisms."

One of Paul's dark eyebrows went up. "So that's how it is," he said slowly.

"Yes," I said. "That's how it is."

He didn't say anything for so long that I figured he wanted to forget the whole thing. Which would have been fine by me. Sort of. Except for the Jesse part.

But then Paul shrugged and went, "Fine by me."

I stared at him, hardly daring to believe my own ears. Had I just engineered - at great personal sacrifice, it had to be admitted - Jesse's reprieve?

It was Paul's nonchalance about the whole thing that convinced me I had. Especially his response to Craig, when the latter reached out and rattled one of the doorknobs and called, "Hey, what's behind these doors?"

"Your just rewards," Paul said with a smirk.

Craig looked over his shoulder at Paul. "Really? My just rewards?"

"Sure," Paul said.

"Don't listen to him, Craig," I said. "He doesn't know what's behind those doors. It could be your just rewards. Or it could just be your next life. No one knows. No one has ever come out through one of them. You can only go in."

Craig looked speculatively at the door in front of him.

"Next life, huh?" he said.

"Or eternal salvation," Paul said. "Or, depending on how bad you've been, eternal damnation. Go on. Open it and find out whether you were naughty or nice."

Craig shrugged but he didn't take his eyes off the door in front of him.

"Well," he said. "It's gotta be better than hanging around down there. Tell Neil I'm sorry I acted like such a ... you know. It's just that, well, it's just that it really wasn't very fair."

Then, laying a hand on the doorknob in front of him, he turned the handle. The door opened a fraction of an inch . . .

And Craig disappeared in a flash of light so blinding, I had to throw up my hands to protect my eyes.

"Well," I heard Paul saying, a few seconds later, "now that he's out of the way . . ."

I lowered my arms. Craig was gone. There was nothing left where he'd been standing. Even the fog looked undisturbed.

"Now can we get out of here?" Paul heaved a little shudder. "This place gives me the heebie-jeebies."

I tried to hide my astonishment that Paul felt exactly the way I did about the spirit plane. I wondered if he had nightmares about it, too. Somehow, I didn't think so.

But I didn't think I'd be having any more of them, either.

"Okay," I said. "Only . . . only how do we get back?"

"Same thing," Paul said, closing his eyes. "Just picture it."

I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth of Paul's fingers inside my arm, and the cool lick of the fog on my legs . . .

A second later, the awful silence was gone, replaced instead by the sounds of loud music. And screaming. And sirens.

I opened my eyes.

The first thing I saw was Jesse's face, hanging over mine. It looked pale in the flashing red and white lights of the ambulance that had pulled up alongside the deck. Beside Jesse's face was CeeCee's, and beside hers, Jake's.

CeeCee was the first one to go, "She's awake! Oh, my God, Suze! You're awake! Are you okay?"

I sat up groggily. I did not feel very good. In fact, I felt a little as if someone had hit me. Hard. I clutched my temples. Headache. Pounding headache. Nausea-inducing headache.

"Susannah." Jesses arm was around me. His voice, in my ear, was urgent. "Susannah, what happened? Are you all right? Where ... where did you go? Where's Craig?"

"Where he belongs," I said, wincing as red and white lights caused my headache to feel a thousand times worse. "Is Neil ... is Neil all right?"

"He's fine. Susannah." Jesse looked about as shaky as I felt. . . which was pretty shaky. I didn't imagine that the past few minutes had been all that great for him. I mean, what with me being slumped over, unconscious, and for no apparent reason and all. My jeans were wet from where I'd landed in water from the hot tub. I could only imagine what my hair looked like. I feared passing a mirror.

"Susannah." Jesse's grasp on me was possessive. Delightfully so. "What happened?"

"Who's Neil?" CeeCee wanted to know. She glanced worriedly at Adam. "Oh, my God. She's delusional."

"I'll tell you later," I said, with a glance at CeeCee. A few feet away, I could see that Paul, too, was sitting up. Unlike Neil, over where the sliding glass door used to be, he was doing so without the aid of an EMT. But like Neil, Paul was coughing up plenty of chlorinated water. And not just his jeans were wet. He was soaked from head to toe. And his nose was bleeding profusely.

"What've we got here?" An EMT knelt down beside me, and, lifting my wrist, began to take my pulse.

"She passed out cold," CeeCee said officiously. "And no, she hadn't had anything to drink."

"Lotta that going around here," the EMT said. She checked my pupils. "You hit your head, too?"

"Not that I know of," I said, narrowing my eyes against the annoying glare of her little penlight.

"She might've," CeeCee said, "when she passed out."

The EMT looked disapproving. "When are you kids going to learn? Alcohol," she said severely, "and hot tubs do not mix."

I didn't bother to argue that I hadn't been drinking. Or, for that matter, sitting in the hot tub. I was, after all, fully dressed. It was enough that the EMT let me go after telling me that my vitals checked out and that I was to drink plenty of water and get some sleep. Neil, too, was given a clean bill of health. I saw him a little while later, calling for a cab on his cell phone. I went up to him and told him that it was safe to use his car now. He just looked at me like I was crazy.

Paul wasn't as lucky as Neil and me. His nose turned out to be broken, so they trundled him off to the ER. I saw him moments before they wheeled him away, and he did not look happy. He peered at me around the splint they'd taped to his face.

"Headache?" Paul asked in a phlegmy voice.

"A killer one," I said.

"Forgot to warn you," he said. "It always happens, postshifting."

Paul grimaced. I realized he was trying to smile. "I'll be back," he said in a pretty sad imitation of the Terminator. Then the EMTs returned to cart him away.

After Paul was gone, I looked around for Jesse. I had no idea what I was going to say to him . . . maybe something along the lines of how he wasn't going to have to worry about Paul anymore?

Only it ended up not mattering anyway, because I didn't see him anywhere. Instead, all I saw was Brad, panting heavily, and coming my way.

"Suze," he cried. "Come on. Some idiot called the cops. We've got to hide the keg before they get here."

I just blinked at him. "No way," I said.

"Suze." Brad looked panicky. "Come on! They'll confiscate it! Or worse, arrest everybody."

I looked around and found CeeCee standing over by Adam's car. I called, "Hey, Cee. Can I come over and spend the night at your house?"

CeeCee called back, "Sure. If you'll tell me everything there is to know about this Jesse guy."

"Nothing to tell," I said. Because there really wasn't. Jesse was gone. And I had a pretty good idea where he'd gone, too.

And there wasn't a thing I could do about it.

18

"Face it, Suze," CeeCee said as she wolfed down her half of a cannoli we were sharing the next day at the feast of Father Serra. "Men suck."

"You're telling me," I said.

"I mean it. Either you want them and they don't want you, or they want you and you don't want them - "

"Welcome to my world," I said, glumly.

"Aw, come on," she said, looking taken aback by my tone. "It can't be that bad."

I wasn't in any sort of mood to argue with her. For one thing, I had only just, a little less than twelve hours later, gotten over my postshifting headache. For another, there was the little matter of Jesse. I wasn't all that keen to discuss the latest developments there.

It wasn't like I didn't have enough problems. Like, for instance, my mom and stepdad. They hadn't been too homicidal when they'd gotten home from San Francisco and discovered the shambles that had once been their home . . . not to mention the police summons. Brad was only grounded for life, and Jake, for going along with the whole party scheme - not to mention providing the alcohol - had his Camaro fund completely confiscated to pay whatever fines the party ended up costing. Only the fact that David had been safely at Todd's the whole time kept Andy from actually killing either of his two elder sons. But you could tell he was totally thinking about it anyway . . . especially after my mom saw what had happened to the china cabinet.

Not that either Andy or my mom was particularly happy with me, either - not because they knew the busted up china cabinet was my fault, but for not ratting my stepbrothers out in the first place. I would have intimated that blackmail had been employed, but then they would have known that Brad had something on me that was worthy of blackmail.

So I kept my mouth shut, glad that for once, I was more or less guiltless. Well, except where the china cabinet was concerned - though happily, no one but me knew it. Still, I knew I couldn't shirk my culpability there. I pretty much knew where any future babysitting earnings were going to go.

I am pretty sure they were thinking about grounding me, too. But the feast of Father Serra they could not keep me away from, on account of how, being a member of the student government, I was expected by Sister Ernestine to man a booth there. Which was how I'd ended up at the cannoli stand with CeeCee, who, as editor of the school paper, was also required to put in an appearance. After the preceding evening's activities - you know, massive brawl, trip to the netherworld, and then all-night gabfest accompanied by copious amounts of popcorn and chocolate - we were neither of us at our best. But the surprising number of attendees who plunked down a buck per cannoli didn't seem to notice the circles under our eyes . . . perhaps because we were wearing sunglasses.

"Okay," CeeCee said. It had been pretty dim of Sister Ernestine to put CeeCee and me in charge of a dessert booth, since most of the pastries we were supposed to be selling were disappearing down our throats. After a night like the one we'd had, we felt like we needed the sugar. "Paul Slater."

"What about him?"

"He likes you."

"I guess," I said.

"That's it? You guess?"

"I told you," I said. "I like someone else."

"Right," CeeCee said. "Jesse."

"Right," I said. "Jesse."

"Who doesn't like you back?"

"Well. . . yeah."

CeeCee and I sat in silence for a minute. All around us, mariachi music was playing. Over by the fountain, kids were batting at piftatas. The statue of Junipero Serra had been adorned with flowered leis. There was a sausage and peppers stand right alongside the taco stand. There were as many Italians in the church community as there were Latinos.

Suddenly, CeeCee, gazing at me from behind the dark lenses of her sunglasses, went, "Jesse's a ghost, isn't he?"

I choked on the cannoli I was scarfing down.

"W-What?" I asked, gagging.

"He's a ghost," CeeCee said. "You don't have to bother denying it. I was there last night, Suze. I saw . . . well, I saw stuff that can't be explained any other way. You were talking to him, but there wasn't anyone there. And yet someone was holding Paul's head under that water."

I went, feeling myself turn beet red, "You're nuts."

"No," CeeCee said. "I'm not. I wish I were. You know I hate stuff like that. Stuff that can't be explained scientifically. And those stupid people on TV, who claim they can speak to the dead. But - " A tourist came up, drunk on the bright sunshine, the fresh sea air, and the extremely weak beer they were serving over at the German booth. He put down a dollar. CeeCee handed him a cannoli. He asked for a napkin. We noticed that the napkin dispenser was empty. CeeCee apologized. The tourist laughed good-naturedly, took his cannoli, and went away.

"But what?" I asked nervously.

"But where you're concerned, I'm willing to believe. And some day," she added, picking up the empty napkin dispenser, "you are going to explain it all to me."

"CeeCee," I said, feeling my heart start to return to its normal rhythm. "Believe me. You're better off not knowing."

"No," CeeCee said, shaking her head. "I'm not. I hate not knowing things." Then she shook the empty dispenser. "I'm going to go get a refill. You okay on your own for a minute?"

I nodded, and she went away. I don't know if she had any idea how badly she'd shaken me. I sat there, wondering what I ought to do. Only one other living person knew my secret - one other person besides Father Dom and Paul, of course - and even she, my best friend Gina, back in Brooklyn, didn't know all of it. I had never told anyone else because . . . well, because who would believe it?

But CeeCee believed it. CeeCee had figured it out for herself, and she believed it. Maybe, I thought. Maybe it wasn't as crazy as I'd always thought.

I was sitting there, trembling, even though it was seventy-five degrees and sunny out. I was so deeply absorbed in my thoughts, I didn't hear the voice that was addressing me from the other side of the booth until he'd said my name - or a semblance of it, anyway - three times.

I looked up, and saw a young man in a pale blue uniform grinning at me. "Susan, right?" he said.

I looked from him to the face of the old man whose wheelchair he was pushing. It was Paul Slaters grandfather and his attendant. I shook myself and stood up.

"Um," I said. "Hi." To say I was feeling a bit confused would have been the understatement of the year. "What are you - what are you doing here? I thought... I thought..."

"You thought he was housebound?" the nurse asked with a grin. "Not quite. No, Mr. Slater likes to get out. Don't you, Mr. Slater? In fact, he insisted on down here today. I didn't think it was appropriate, you know, given what happened to his grandson last night, but Paul's at home, recuperating nicely, and Mr. S. was adamant. Weren't you, Mr. S.?"

Paul's grandfather did something that surprised me then. He looked up at the nurse and said in a voice that was perfectly lucid, "Go and get me a beer."

The nurse frowned down at him. "Now, Mr. S.," he said. "You know your doctor says - "

"Just do it," Mr. Slater said.

The nurse, with an amused glance at me as if to say Well, what are you going to do? went off to the beer booth, leaving Mr. Slater alone with me.

I stared at him. The last time I had seen him, he'd been drooling. He wasn't drooling now. His blue eyes were rheumy, it was true. But I had a feeling they saw a lot more that was going on around him besides just Family Feud reruns.

In fact, I was sure of it, when he said, "Listen to me. We don't have much time. I was hoping you'd be here."

He spoke rapidly and softly. In fact, I had to lean forward, over the cannolis, to hear him. But though his voice was low, his enunciation was crystal clear.

"You're one of them," he said. "One of those shifters. Believe me, I know. I'm one, too."

I blinked at him. "You - you are?"

"Yes," he said. "And the name's Slaski, not Slater. Fool son of mine changed it. Didn't want people to know he was related to an old quack who went around talking about people with the ability to walk among the dead."

I just stared at him. I didn't know what to say. What could I say? I was more astonished by this than by what CeeCee had revealed.

"I know what my grandson told you," Mr. Slater - Dr. Slaski - went on. "Don't listen to him. He's got it all wrong. Sure, you have the ability. But it'll kill you. Maybe not right away but eventually." He stared out at me from a gray, liver-spotted mask of wrinkles. "I know what I'm talking about. Like that fool grandson of mine, I thought I was a god. No, I thought I was God."

I blinked at him. "But - "

"Don't make my mistake, Susan. You stay away from it. Stay away from the shadow world."

"But - "

But Paul's grandfather had seen his nurse coming back, and he quickly lapsed back into his semicatatonic state, and would say no more.

"Here you go, Mr. Slater," the nurse said, carefully holding the plastic cup to the old man's lips. "Nice and cold."

Dr. Slaski, to my complete disbelief, let the beer dribble down his chin and all over his shirt.

"Oops," the attendant said. "Sorry about that. Well, we'd better go get cleaned up." He winked at me. "Nice seeing you again, Susan. See you later."

Then he wheeled Dr. Slaski away, toward the duck-shooting booth.

And that, as far as I was concerned, was it. I had to get out. I could not take it a minute longer in the cannoli booth. I had no idea where CeeCee had disappeared to, but she was just going to have to deal with the pastry sales on her own for a while. I needed some quiet.

I slipped out from behind the booth and strode blindly through the crowds packing the courtyard, darting through the first open door I came across.

I found myself in the mission's cemetery. I didn't turn back. Cemeteries don't creep me out that much. I mean, though it might come as a surprise to learn, ghosts hardly ever hang out there. Near their graves, I mean. They tend to concentrate much more on the places they hung out while they were living. Cemeteries can actually be very restful, to a mediator.

Or a shifter. Or whatever it is that Paul Slater is convinced I am.

Paul Slater who, I was beginning to realize, wasn't just a manipulative eleventh grader who happened to be warm for my form. No, according to his own grandfather, Paul Slater was . . . well, the devil.

And I had just sold my soul to him.

This was not information I could process lightly. I needed time to think, time to figure out what I was going to do next.

I stepped into the cool, shady graveyard, and turned down a narrow pathway that, by this point, had actually become sort of familiar to me. I went down it a lot. In fact sometimes, when I borrowed the hall pass, pretending I needed to visit the ladies' room during class, this was where I went instead, to the mission cemetery and down this very path. Because at the end of it lay something very important to me. Something I cared about.

But this time, when I got to the end of the little stone path, I found that I was not alone. Jesse stood there, looking down at his own headstone.

I knew the words he was reading by heart, because I was the one who, with Father Dom, had supervised their carving.

Here lies Hector "Jesse" De Silva, 1830-1850, Beloved Brother, Son, and Friend.

Jesse looked up as I came to stand beside him. Wordlessly, he held his hand out over the top of the headstone. I slipped my ringers into his.

"I'm sorry," he said, his gaze darkly opaque as ever, "about everything."

I shrugged, keeping my gaze on the earth surrounding his headstone - dark as his eyes. "I understand, I guess." Even though I didn't. "I mean, you can't help it if you . . . well, don't feel the same way about me as I do about you."

I don't know what made me say it. The minute the words were out of my mouth, I wished the grave beneath us would open up and swallow me, too.

So you can imagine my surprise when Jesse demanded, in a voice I barely recognized as his, it was so filled with pent-up emotion, "Is that what you think? That I wanted to leave?"

"Didn't you?" I stared at him, completely dumbstruck. I was trying very hard to remain coolly detached from the whole thing, on account of having had my pride stomped on. Still, my heart, which I could have sworn had shriveled up and blown away a day or two ago, suddenly came shuddering back to life, even though I warned it firmly not to.

"How could I stay?" Jesse wanted to know. "After what happened between us, Susannah, how could I stay?"

I genuinely had no idea what he was talking about. "What happened between us? What do you mean?"

"That kiss." He let go of my hand, so suddenly that I stumbled.

But I didn't care. I didn't care because I was beginning to think something wonderful was happening. Something glorious. I thought it all the more when I saw Jesse lift a hand to run his fingers through his hair, and I saw that they were shaking. His fingers, I mean. Why would his fingers be shaking like that?

"How could I stay?" Jesse wanted to know. "Father Dominic was right. You need to be with someone your family and your friends can actually see. You need to be with someone who can grow old with you. You need to be with someone alive."

Suddenly, it was all beginning to make sense. Those weeks of awkward silences between us. Jesse's standoffishness. It wasn't because he didn't love me. It wasn't because he didn't love me, at all.

I shook my head. My blood, which I'd begun to suspect had somehow frozen in my veins these past few days, seemed suddenly to begin flowing again. I hoped that I was not making another mistake. I hoped this was not a dream I was going to wake up from anytime soon.

"Jesse," I said, feeling drunk with happiness, "I don't care about any of that. That kiss ... that kiss was the best thing that ever happened to me."

I was simply stating a fact. That's all. A fact that I'd been sure he'd already known.

But I guess it came as a surprise to him, since the next thing I knew, he'd pulled me into his arms, and was kissing me all over again.

And it was like the world, which had, for the past few weeks, been off its axis, suddenly righted itself. I was in Jesses arms, and he was kissing me, and everything was fine. More than fine. Everything was perfect. Because he loved me.

And yeah, okay, maybe that meant he had to move out . . . and yeah, there was the whole Paul thing. I still wasn't too sure what I was going to do about that.

But what did any of that matter? He loved me!

And this time when he kissed me, no one interrupted.