Bernadette nodded. ‘Yeah. That’s why we thought it was so weird when you walked past it. It was like you knew that that was where Heather had sat. We all thought maybe you were psychic or something—’

I didn’t bother telling them that the reason I hadn’t sat in Heather’s seat had nothing whatsoever to do with being psychic. I didn’t say anything, actually. I was thinking, Gee, Mom, nice of you to tell me why there was suddenly this space for me, when before the school had been too crowded to let in another new student.

I stared at Bryce. He was tanned from his trip to Antigua. He sat on the picnic table with his feet on the bench, his elbows on his knees, staring out at the Pacific. A gentle wind tugged at some of his sandy-blond hair.

He has no idea, I thought. He has no idea at all. He thinks he’s got it bad? Just wait.

Just wait.

Eight

He didn’t have to wait long. In fact, it was right after lunch that she came after him. Not that he ever knew it, of course. I spotted her immediately in the crowd as everybody headed towards their lockers. Ghosts have a sort of glow about them that sets them apart from the living – thank God, too, or half the time I might never have known the difference.

Anyway, there she was staring daggers at him like one of those blond kids out of Village of the Damned. People, not knowing she was there, kept walking straight through her. I sort of envied them. I wish ghosts were invisible to me like they were to everybody else. I know that would mean I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy my dad’s company these past few years, but, hey, it also would have meant I wouldn’t be standing there knowing Heather was about to do something horrible.

Not that I knew what it was she planned on doing to him. Ghosts can get pretty rough sometimes. The trick Jesse had done with the mirror was nothing, really. I’ve had objects thrown at me with enough force that, if I hadn’t ducked, I’d certainly be one with the spirit world as well. I’ve had concussions and broken bones galore. My mom just thinks I’m accident-prone. Yeah, Mom. That’s right. I broke my wrist falling down the stairs. Oh, and the reason I fell down the stairs is that the ghost of a three-hundred-year-old conquistador pushed me.

The minute I saw Heather, though, I knew she was up to no good. I was not basing this assumption on my previous interaction with her. Oh, no. See, I followed the direction of Heather’s gaze, and saw that it wasn’t Bryce, exactly, that she was staring at. It was actually one of the rafters in the section of breezeway beneath which Bryce was walking that had attracted her attention. And as I stood there, I saw the timber start to shake. Not the whole breezeway. Oh, no. Just one single, heavy piece. The piece directly over Bryce’s head.