"I'm sure Mom would have made it. But it's kind of hard for her, being dead and all."

A great slap-down comeback. Tori didn't even blink.

"So what did you do to deserve a pass already, Chloe? Was that your reward for helping them get rid of Liz?"

"She didn't —" Rae began.

"Like you're any better, Rachelle. You couldn't even wait until Liz's bed was cold before you bunked down with your new buddy. So, Chloe, what's with the special treatment?"

"It's not special," Rae said. "Your mom takes you out all the time. In Chloe's case, it's probably a reward for good behavior. With you, it's just because your mom's on the board of directors."

At our age, being "well behaved" isn't exactly a goal to strive for. But Tori's nostrils flared, her face twisting, as if Rae had lobbed the worst possible insult.

"Yeah?" she said. "Well, we don't see your parents coming around, do we, Rachelle? How many times have they visited or called since you've been here? Let's see . . . oh, right, zero." She made an 0 with her thumb and forefinger. "And it has nothing to do with bad behavior. They just don't care."

Rae shoved her into the wall. Tori let out an ear-shattering shriek.

"She burned me!" she said, clutching her shoulder.

"I pushed you."

Ms. Wang hurried from the classroom, followed by Simon and Derek, who'd stayed behind to discuss an assignment.

"Rae burned me. She has matches or something. Look, look . . ." Tori pulled down the collar of her T-shirt.

"Leave your clothes on, Tori," Simon said, raising his hands to his eyes. "Please."

Derek let out a low rumble that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

Rae held up her hands. "No matches. No lighters. Nothing up my sleeve . . ."

"I see a very faint red mark, Tori, from being pushed," Ms. Wang said.

"She burned me! I felt it! She's hiding matches again. Search her. Do something."

"How about you do something, Tori?" Simon said as he brushed past us. "Like get a life."

She wheeled —not on him but on Rae—lunging at her before being grabbed by Ms. Wang. The nurses came running.

Yep, Tori was back.

I'D SPENT THAT FIRST class braced for Miss Van Dop or Dr. Gill to stride in and yank Derek out for a "conference." I should have trusted my aunt. When we'd come back from breakfast, she'd quietly taken Mrs. Talbot aside, saying only that she wanted to discuss my progress. No one thought anything of it. And no one had burst into the class and dragged Derek out.

Tori's episode was the only bump in an otherwise quiet morning. Derek attended classes and ignored me. He went to his session with Dr. Gill before lunch. When he came out, I was in the hall, waiting to use the bathroom. Simon was inside, as he always was before a meal. I'd never known a guy to be so conscientious about washing up before eating.

I was considering running upstairs to the girls' bathroom when Dr. Gill's door opened, and Derek's dark form filled it. I braced myself. He stepped out and looked at me. My heart pounded so hard I was sure he could hear it, just as sure as I was that he'd just gotten bawled out. Our eyes met. He nodded, grunted something that sounded like "hi," and was about to brush past me when the bathroom door opened.

Simon walked out, head down. He saw me and shoved something into his back pocket. "Whoops. Guess I'm hogging the bathroom again, causing lines."

"Just Chloe." Derek pushed open the door for me. He didn't seem angry at all. Nicer than normal, even. My aunt must have handled it fine. I should have known she would.

As I went inside, Simon said to Derek, "Hey, lunch is this way."

"Start without me. I gotta get something from our room."

A pause. Then "Hold up," and Simon's footsteps followed Derek's up the stairs.

After lunch, it was my turn to take out the trash. Life experience, I kept telling myself as I wheeled the wagon to the shed, swatting away flies buzzing in for a closer look. All life experience. You never know when I'd need a critical scene with the protagonist hauling trash.

My laugh fluttered across the yard. The sun was shining, heat beating down on my face, tree and daffodils blossoming, the faint smell of newly cut grass almost masking the stink of rotting garbage.

A pretty good start to my afternoon. Better than I'd expected —

I stopped. There, in the yard behind ours, was a ghost, A little girl, no more than four.

She had to be a ghost. She was alone in the yard, playing outside in a frilly dress —a wedding cake confection of bows and ribbons, with more ribbons wound in her corkscrew curls and more bows on her shiny patent leather shoes. She looked like Shirley Temple off an old movie poster.

I tossed the bags into the shed, where they'd be sale from marauding raccoons and skunks. The bags thumped as they hit the wooden floor, but the girl, only twenty feet away, didn't look up. I closed the shed, walked behind it to the fence, and crouched, getting closer to her level.

"Hello," I said.

She frowned, as if wondering who I was talking to.

I smiled. "Yes, I can see you. That's a pretty dress. I had one like that when I was about your age."

One last hesitant glance over her shoulder, then she sidled closer. "Mommy bought it for me."

"My mom bought mine, too. Do you like it?"

She nodded, her smile lighting up her dark eyes.

"I bet you do. I loved mine. Do —?"

"Amanda!"

The girl jumped back, landing on her rear and letting out a wail. A woman in slacks and a leather coat broke into a run, keys jangling in her hand, the back door whooshing shut behind her.

"Oh, Amanda, you got your pretty dress all dirty. I'm going to have to reschedule your special photos." The woman shot me a glare, scooping up the little girl and carrying her toward the house. "I told you not to go near that fence, Amanda. Never talk to the kids over there. Never, do you hear me?"

Don't talk to the crazy kids. I longed to shout back that we weren't crazy. I'd mistaken her kid for a ghost, that's all.

I wondered whether they had books about this sort of thing. Fifty Ways to Tell the Living from the Dead Before You Wind Up in a Padded Room. Yep, I'm sure the library carried that one.

I couldn't be the only person in the world who saw ghosts. Was it something I'd inherited, like blue eyes? Or was it something I'd contracted, like a virus?

There had to be others. How would I find them? Could I? Should I?

The thump of footsteps told me someone was coming. A living person. That was one lesson I'd already learned: ghosts can yell, cry, and talk, but they don't make any noise when they move.

I was still behind the shed, hidden from view. Like being in the basement, only here, no one would hear me scream for help.

I dashed forward just as a shadow rounded the shed. Simon.

He strode toward me, his face dark with anger. I stiffened, but stood my ground.

"What did you say?" His words came slow, deliberate, as if struggling to keep his voice steady.

"Say?"

"To the nurses. About my brother. You accused him of something."

"I didn't tell the nurses any —"

"Your aunt did, then." His fingers drummed against the shed. "You know what I'm talking about. You told her, she told the nurses, then Dr. Gill took Derek into a special conference before lunch and warned him not to bother you. If he does, they're sending him away."

"Wh-what?"

"A word from you, and he's gone. Transferred." A vein in his neck throbbed. "He's been perfect since he got here. Now, all of a sudden, after, one problem with you, he's put on notice. If he so much as looks at you funny, he's gone."