Meg Cabot - Shadowland

I stood there, holding the phone, totally stunned. Kelly Prescott, the richest, most beautiful girl in the entire sophomore class was inviting me to a pool party on the same night I was going out on a date with the sexiest boy in school. Who happened to be on the other line.

"Yeah, sure, Kelly," I said. "I'd love to. Does Brad know where it is?"

"Brad?" Kelly said. Then, "Oh, Brad . That's right, he's your half brother or something, right? Oh, yeah, bring him. Listen – "

"I'd love to chat, Kelly, but I got somebody on the other line. Can I talk to you about it tomorrow in school?"

"Oh, totally. Bye."

I clicked back to Bryce, asked him to hold on another second, put my hand over the mouth piece and yelled, "Brad, pool party at Kelly Prescott's this Saturday. Be there or be square."

Dopey dropped his joy stick. "No way!" he yelled, joyfully. "No freakin' way!"

"Hey!" Andy rapped him on the head. "Watch the language."

I got back on with Bryce. "Dinner would be great," I said. "Anything but health food."

Bryce went, "Great! Yeah, I hate health food, too. There's nothing like a really good piece of meat, you know, with some fries on the side, and some gravy – "

"Uh, yeah, right, Bryce. Listen, that's my call waiting again, I'm really sorry, but I have to go, okay? I'll talk to you tomorrow in school."

"Oh. Okay." Bryce sounded taken aback. I guess I was the first girl who'd ever answered her call waiting when he was on the line. "Bye, Suze. And, uh, thanks again."

"No problem. Anytime." I hit the receiver. "Hello?"

"Suze! It's Cee Cee!"

In the background, I heard Adam yell, "And me, too!"

"Hey, girlfriend," Cee Cee said, "we're heading down to the Clutch. Want us to pick you up? Adam just got his license."

"I'm legal!" Adam shouted into the phone.

"The Clutch?"

"Yeah, the Coffee Clutch, downtown. You drink coffee, don't you? I mean, aren't you, like, from New York?"

I had to think about that one. "Uh, yeah. The thing is – I sort of have something I have to do."

"Oh, come on . What do you have to do? Wash your cape? I mean, I know you're a big hero and all of that, and probably don't have time for us little people, but – "

"I haven't finished my thousand word essay on the battle of Bladensburg for Mr. Walden," I said. "And I've got a lot of Geometry to do if I'm going to catch up to you geniuses."

"Oh, gawd," Cee Cee said. "All right . But you have to promise to sit by us at lunch tomorrow. We want to hear all about how you pressed your body up against Bryce's and what it felt like and all that stuff."

"I don't' Adam declared, sounding horrified.

"Okay," Cee Cee said. "So I want to hear all about it."

I assured her I'd spare no detail and hung up. Then I looked down at the phone. To my relief, it did not ring again. I couldn't quite believe it. Never in my life had I been so popular. It was weird .

I had lied about my homework, of course. The essay was done, and I had worked through two chapters of Geometry – about all I could handle in one night. The truth, of course, was that I had an errand to run, and I had a bit of preparation to do for it.

You don't need a whole lot of tools to do a mediation. I mean, all that stuff about crosses and holy water, I guess you need those things to kill a vampire – and I can tell you right now that I have never in my life met a vampire, and I've spent a lot of time in graveyards – but for ghosts, well, you sort of have to wing it.

Sometimes, though, to get the job done right, you have to do a little breaking and entering. For that you need some tools. I highly recommend just using stuff you find on site because then you don't have a lot to carry. But I do have a tool belt with a flashlight and some screwdrivers and pliers and stuff, which I wear over a pair of black leggings. I was fastening this on at around midnight, satisfied that everyone else in the house was asleep – including Sleepy, who was back from his pizza round by then – and had just shrugged into my motorcycle jacket when I got a visit from good old you-know-who.

"Jeez," I said, when I caught a glimpse of his reflection behind mine in the mirror into which I was primping. I swear, I've been seeing ghosts for years, but it still freaks me out every time one of them materializes in front of me. I spun around, angry not so much that he was there, but because he'd managed to catch me so unaware. "Why are you still hanging around? I thought I told you to get lost."

Jesse was leaning very casually against one of the posts to my bed. His dark-eyed gaze roved from the top of my hooded head to the toes of my black high-tops. "It's a little late to be going out, don't you think, Susannah?" he asked as conversationally as if we'd been in the middle of a discussion about, oh, I don't know, the second Fugitive Slave Act, which I believe had been enacted at or around the time he'd died.

"Uh," I said, pulling the hood back. "Look, no offense, Jesse, but this is my room. How about you try getting out of it? And my business, too, please?"

Jesse didn't move. "Your mother won't like your going out so late at night."

"My mother." I glared at him. Up at him, I should say. He was really disconcertingly tall for someone who was dead. "What would you know about my mother?"

"I like your mother very much," Jesse said calmly. "She is a good woman. You are very lucky to have a mother who loves you so very much. It would upset her, I think, to see you putting yourself in the path of danger."

The path of danger. Right! "Yeah, well, news flash, Jesse. I've been sneaking out at night for a long time, and my mom's never said boo about it before. She knows I can take care of myself."

Okay, a lie, but hey, how was he to know?

"Can you?" Jesse lifted a black eyebrow dubiously. I couldn't help noticing that there was a raised scar sliced through the middle of that eyebrow, like someone had taken a swipe at Jesse's face once with a knife. I sort of understood the feeling. Especially when he let out a chuckle, and said, "I don't think so, querida . Not in this case."

I held up both my hands. "Okay. Number one, don't call me stuff in Spanish. Number two, you don't even know where I'm going, so I suggest you just get off my back."

"But I do know where you're going, Susannah. You are going down to the school to talk to the girl who is trying to kill that boy, that boy you seem ... fond of. But I'm telling you, querida , she is too much for you to handle alone. If you must go, you ought to have the priest with you."

I stared at him. I had a feeling my eyes were probably bugging out, but I really couldn't believe it. "What?" I sputtered. "How could you know all that? Are you ... are you stalking me?"

He must have realized from my expression that he'd said the wrong thing, since he straightened up and said, "I don't know what that word means, stalking . All I know is that you are walking into harm's way."

"You've been following me," I said, stabbing a finger at him accusingly. "Haven't you? God, Jesse, I already have an older brother, thank you very much. I don't need you going around spying – "

"Oh, yes," Jesse said, very sarcastically. "This brother cares for you very much. Almost as much as he cares about his sleep."

"Hey!" I said, coming, against all odds, to Sleepy's defense. "He works nights, okay? He's saving up for a Camaro!"

Jesse made what I'm quite sure was a rude gesture – back in 1850. "You," he said, "aren't going anywhere."

"Oh, yeah?" I turned heel and stormed toward the door. "Try and stop me, cadaver breath."

He did a good job. My hand was on the doorknob when the deadbolt slid into place. I hadn't even realized before that there was a deadbolt on my door – it must have been an ancient one. The handle to it was gone, and God only knew, the key must have long since been lost.