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home, or else my dad will definitely ground me.
    I sit on the floor outside the gym (which is actually surprisingly clean—the custodians at this school must be way better than the ones at my school, since the floors there are super-disgusting) and work on my homework until the practice lets out. When it finally does, I’m totally ready for Jen. Jenny? Should I call her Jen or Jenny? Probably just Jen. No need to get cute.
    â€œHey, Jen!” I yell as she walks by, her backpack bouncing against the back of her dark purple hoodie. She turns around and looks at me. I haven’t really figured out what I’m going to say to her. Which is okay. I’m always better on the fly.
    â€œYeah?” she asks.
    â€œI just . . . um, I’m a gymnast.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize I shouldn’t have said them. I mean, I know nothing about gymnastics. I mean, I’m not totally unprepared. I did some quick googling, so I know a few of the basic moves. And I’ve used some of the equipment, like the balance beam and uneven bars, during ourgymnastics unit in gym class. But that’s about it. “And I was wondering if you could give me some pointers? Some very basic ones,” I add quickly. “I’m kind of just starting out, so nothing too, ah, technical.” Hmmm. So much for being better on the fly.
    â€œYou’re a gymnast?” she says, shaking her head. She sounds confused. Which makes sense. After all, I’m just accosting her outside of practice, telling her I’m a gymnast looking for pointers. Not to mention that I really don’t look like a gymnast. I’m short, at least, like gymnasts are, so that’s good. But I think they wear their hair in ponytails a lot. Or buns. How boring.
    â€œI’m sorry. What is it you’re asking?” Jen asks, still sounding confused. She looks over her shoulder, like she’s late for something.
    â€œYeah,” I say. “I’m, um, a gymnast. I used to go and watch your meets all the time. I really admired your teammate Daniella.” I look down at the ground like I’m all sad about her dying, but I’m looking up at Jen from below lowered lashes so that I can see her reaction.
    â€œYou watched Daniella Hughes?” Jen asks. Her voice softens, and I know I have the right Jen. Her whole face looks like she’s longing to have Daniella back. I think about Ellie, about what I would do if anything ever happened to her, and my heart catches in my throat. This is the difficult part about what I do. Dealing with the dead people is easy,because they’re all fine. Happy, even. It’s the people that are left behind that are the ones that are hard to talk to.
    â€œYes,” I say. “She was amazing on the beam.” I don’t know if it’s true or not, but I’m taking a guess, and also since I know hardly anything about gymnastics, this is the best I can come up with.
    Jen just stares at me.
    â€œWanna walk together?” I ask, forcing my voice to sound all friendly and not like I’m going to pump her for info about Daniella. “I have to be back at the middle school to catch my late bus, but I would really just love to talk to you.”
    â€œI can’t,” she says, looking over her shoulder again. “Sorry, but I don’t have my mom’s car today and I’m about to miss my own late bus.”
    â€œOh. Right.” I force myself to sound really disappointed. She’s afraid of missing her late bus? She’s sixteen. I’m sure her dad isn’t going to freak out if she comes home late, like mine would. “Sorry, I just . . . I really was hoping to get some pointers from someone I admire.” I look down at the ground like I’m devastated, and then turn and start walking away.
    My gamble pays off, because I hear her sigh, and then she yells after me, “Wait! Where do you