The funeral was a small gathering. There weren't a lot of friends of Grandma, but those who were knew of her a hell of a lot more than Mom or Dad or me.
They kept telling me how much of a great woman she was. I knew she was. She was my grandma.
I caught a couple of stink eyes pointed at my mom, probably for good reason. Mom didn't even bother hiding her disdain. I think she's bitter about the will, apparently Grandma left the house to me and donated the rest for charity.
I didn't tell her that I found the body or Dad or anyone, actually. I just came back home after I called the ambulance, pretending to be a neighbor.
As much as I didn't want to think about it, it disturbed me. I can't ignore the facts now.
Whether I want this or not, for some reason I can see the dead. I can see them, they cannot be ignored.
It's like now I can see them, they're everywhere. I can see them walking around the street, graveyards, even at school. Some of them are walking around looking for someone—they feel lost—and others are so numb that it's so hard to tell the difference between them and the living.
Even at the funeral house I see one or two. They're staring at people like they're animals in a zoo. I don't make eye contact with any of the ghosts, except one.
Jack is wearing the same outfit from the party, and he's just staring at me.
I'm walking towards him, hissing through my teeth, "Let's do this somewhere else." I nudge with my head towards a vacant alcove.
He nods as if coming back to reality, going in the same direction I am. God, this is strange. If anyone sees me, I'll be looking like a nut job.
His hands were wide, ready for a hug. "God, I missed you, Rachel."
I sidestep him, being careful to not touch him if he realizes that he can't touch me. He might be sent over the deep end.
His face immediately falls. "I'm sorry. It's been a couple of weird days," I trying not to mumble this time.
He nods appreciatively. "Yeah, I get that. I'm sorry about your grandma."
I respond, "Thank you," because I don't know what to say besides that.
He scratches behind his ear, opening his mouth, and looking at me before he says, "I'm sorry about what I said."
My eyebrows rise up in surprise. "What do you mean?"
"At the party," his lip puttering out, and I find myself staring at it for way too long. "I shouldn't have said you were a whore. When I saw you at the parking lot, I wanted to ask you if you would go out with me."
I start protesting, but he raises a hand, stopping me. "And when I saw you at the party practically naked in front of all those people, I got so pissed off. But then you wanted me, and I thought… I thought you might have regretted it."
I find myself in the strange power balance with him now. He's the stuttering one. I don't want him to stop talking. He's nervous, and I kind of like it. "I just blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. I was an ass. I am so sorry."
First time I'm dumbfounded on anything to say. Because this beautiful dead boy liked me. I was a nerdy nobody who liked doodling in bio class, and my idea of fun was doing homework. He was way out of my league, and now he was dead.
He liked me. He liked me, I repeated it in my mind, but it didn't sound real.
I fondled with the words with my tongue, "you liked me"
Apparently he heard me because he nodded. "I still do."
"Jacks," I reached out, touching his arm. A strong jolt of energy runs up my spine.
For only a second I felt something.
A flicker of energy coursing from his body to his and mine back to his.
He looked at me, there's so much fear there. It looks like every muscle in his body locked, his eyes went starry white. Then he faded out of existence, nowhere to be seen.