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all.”
    I tilt my head, “Why are you wearing
clothes?”
    His expression is surprised, then melts into
a sly smile. “Why? Were you hoping for a naked haunting?”
    I decide to take a page from Carlos’s
playbook. “Oh, honey, you don’t have the figure for nudity.”
    He grins widely. “Oh, I really do.”
    I look him over and realize that he’s right.
He’s not the skinny little boy who used to make mud castles in my
back yard anymore. Even under his shirts, I can see the tell tale
ribbons of muscle in his chest, shoulders, and arms, taught but
defined. His jaw has squared in the last few years, filling out
into a very masculine face. I look away when I see him staring at
me as I appraise him. I try really hard not to look impressed.
    “Well, I see your massive ego is still
intact.”
    He leans to the side, sprawling out across my
bed.
    I glare, “No offense, but would you not do
that on my bed?”
    “What? Be sexy.”
    “No, be dead.”
    His face falls and he stands up. I
immediately feel bad, but this whole thing has me so weirded out
that I have no idea what to say next.
    “Oh, go ahead. I can practically see the
hamster wheel in your brain smoking. Ask me whatever.”
    “Do you eat?”
    “No. Not hungry either. Which is good, since
I can’t actually touch anything.”
    “What are you standing on? If you can’t touch
anything, what keeps your feet on the floor?”
    He looks down at his sneakers and puckers his
lips. “Good question. I don’t know.”
    He squints and slips halfway down into my
floor, only his upper half still visible. “Huh,” he says, then
floats up so he’s hovering a few feet above the floor.
    I wave my hands in front of my face. “No, no.
Stop that. That’s too creepy to process.”
    He shrugs and once again his feet are firmly
on the ground.
    “How do you get around? Do you just
walk?”
    “I can ride on things, in cars. I rode around
with Kaylee for a few hours at first, in her Camero.”
    Probably screaming at her too, hoping that
she, that anyone, could hear him. Oh, lucky me.
    “But,” he continues, “After I saw you leave
the wake, I waited around to see everyone pay their respects.”
    “That must have been strange.”
    Uncomfortable, awful. Or, maybe in his case,
a huge ego trip. The face he gives me tells me my first thoughts
are closer to accurate.
    “People wanted to say goodbye. I figured I
should give them the chance.”
    I nod. “I’m sorry.”
    He frowns, “Why?”
    “I dunno. For calling you a douche wrench at
your own funeral.” For not caring that you died. I want to say the
words, but I can’t get them out.
    “Douche hammer. You called me a douche
hammer.”
    I shrug. “I knew it was some kind of
tool.”
    “Well, we weren’t exactly close.”
    “And face it, you are a tool.”
    I take a deep breath. The summer before
middle school my parents took me on vacation to visit my uncle in
Paris for the summer. It was amazing, but when I got back, Logan
had a new group of friends. And I was the odd girl out. Then, a few
months into school, my father got in a car accident and died. Mom
pulled me out to home school for the rest of that year. I just
couldn’t face anyone for a while. By the time 8 th grade
began, Logan and I were like total strangers. He was Mr. Popular.
And I was nobody.
    “I guess the million dollar question then Is
- What exactly do you want from me?”
    He squats near my feet, looking up at me.
“When you saw me at the funeral, I was terrified. Because that
meant that I was really dead, not just having some prolonged
nightmare. But then I was relieved too because, I guess, I hoped
that you could help me.”
    “Help you what?”
    He scratches his chin. “I dunno. Help me
figure all this out. Help me just…not be so alone.”
    I lean forward. “Why should I? Like you said,
we aren’t friends.”
    He rocks back on his heels. “We used to
be.”
    “That was a long time ago.”
    “Well, how about this. You’re going to