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before I got around to befriending it, naming it, suddenly it disappeared. Of course now I know it probably got its neck snapped in a trap and was thrown in the trash. But even then, picking out a name for a mouse seemed impossible. A huge amount of responsibility I wasn’t quite ready for.
    And now I’m supposed to name a person? Great .
    I scan the room, looking at the stuff, trying to figure out what would be a good name. I think of my favorite characters from books, movies and TV but nothing seems fitting. All the while, ghostboy just stands there, waiting.
    Suddenly, I see my sunglasses, sitting atop my desk. I saved up countless hours of babysitting money for them. They’re name brand, and I just had to have them. My mom thought I was insane for wanting a pair of sunglasses so over priced, and that I’d probably lose them before the one-year warranty was up. But I bought them anyway, and treat them just as my Mustang, like they’re my babies. Polished, silver, Juliet Oakley’s with Fire Iridium lenses. They set me back like two-hundred bucks, but they are mine . Unlike so many of the things in my life, I managed to save and pay for them on my own, without my parents help.
    I snap my fingers. “Okay, I got it. Your new name is Oakley.” I smile, feeling pleased with myself.
    However, the wrinkle of ghostboy’s nose shows his utter and complete dislike for his new name. “That sounds like something you’d name a dog. Not a person.” He shakes his head, nose still wrinkled like he just smelled the foulest of aromas.
    I cross my arms. “I don’t care. You said I could choose, and if you want my help that’s what your name is.”
    He grumbles, a low throaty sound, still showing his displeasure, but says, “Fine. Oakley it is. But don’t expect me to follow you around, panting and begging like a dog. ’Cause it ain’t happening.”
    I nod. “Deal.” I smile a bit wider. Even if he doesn’t follow me around, or beg, he’s still kinda like a pet. I always wanted one, and a cute guy is way better than some dirty rodent that lived in the garage.
    Extending my hand, only to quickly pull it back as if the space in front of me is scorching hot, I say, “My name’s Alex. I think we need to figure out what happened to you.”
    Solving a mystery is the perfect way to spend the rest of spring break. If it wasn’t for the fact that Oakley’s dead, I’d almost be excited.
     

Chapter Five
    So where does one start? Where’s the guidebook on figuring out how to help a ghost with...amnesia? Because as silence falls over us, Oakley still standing awkwardly in the middle of my room, like a statue, I have no idea how to move forward.
    I take in a deep breath. The small hole in my jeans is turning into a large gash. I can’t afford to wreck them—I put my own money out for these jeans, when Mom thought it was another ridiculous purchase. I can hear her voice now, in the back of my head, wondering why anyone would pay money for holey jeans. Just like my sunglasses and my beat up Mustang, these are luxuries I’ve had to pay for myself. My parents give me everything in the world, as long as they want the same thing, of course.
    But one thing I can’t afford is to have a ghost living in my room forever, as cool as it may seem. “So you really don’t remember anything?” I ask again, lifting my eyes to meet his.
    Oakley shakes his head. “No. Nothing. I just...I don’t know. It feels like I’ve always been here.”
    “Well all right then. I need—” I slide off my bed and Oakley takes a step back, giving me a wide berth, as if I repel him. Shaking it off, I look down at my jeans, and sure enough, the slit in them now exposes my entire kneecap. Crap . “—to think. I’m going to leave for a bit. You just...go do whatever it is you do.”
    Hesitantly, he nods. I’m learning that this is his preferred mode of communication.
    With my hand on the knob of the door, I look over my shoulder. “Just...try not to