“I’m not a baby,” Shelly says. “I wanted to see you. I wanted to say sorry.”

Joseph hums along to the song, his voice mingling with the singer’s. “I do like this apology,” he says. “I like this song. You ever heard Siouxsie and the Banshees before?”

Shelly shakes her head. “It just looked like your kind of tape. It reminded me of—you know, the one you gave me.”

“The Cure,” says Joseph. “Similar hair. Sit, Little Shell. Listen to some music.”

Shelly sits because it would be impolite not to and because she’s not looking forward to her walk home. She huddles up in her coat and listens to the sad, twanging music coming from Joseph’s headphones. It’s a lot like the tape he gave her. Not the same, but something about the guitar and singing reminds Shelly of the sad dance-party song her mother sung along to that last time in the car.

“My mom liked your tape,” she says, when the first song finishes. “She liked music, too. She was always trying to find good stuff in the thrift store and then Grandma would steal her tapes and bring them to you.”

“I think I would have liked her. Your mom,” Joseph says. “I like you and Old Lady. Sounds like she’d be cool, too. Especially if she knew her music. Bet we would’ve been friends.”

Shelly hasn’t gotten to listen to music much since her mom died and this is . . . nice. It’s cold and being out at night is scary, but this isn’t so bad. Talking about her mom with Joseph doesn’t hurt as much as Shelly would have guessed.

She smiles at Joseph. “Mom said you seemed committed to your theme,” she says. “She didn’t like ghosts much, though.”

Joseph laughs. “I guess I am committed. Except the music came before the ghost thing. I didn’t mean for this to happen. Was she not like you and Old Lady?”

“She was like us.” Shelly thinks back to her mom, complaining about ghost lessons and Grandma. She looks down at her hands. “I think ghosts made her sad.”

“We’re dead,” Joseph says. “Makes sense. I mean, talk about commitment—we lived our lives and now we’re just here, waiting, hanging out even though nobody ever notices or talks to us. It is sad, don’t you think?”

Shelly thinks about the way she’s treated by people at school—by everyone. Her heart clenches. “Yeah,” she says. “It’s a little sad. I’m here, though. I notice you.”

Joseph smiles. The translucent skin around his black eyes crinkles up. “And I appreciate your company, Little Shell.”

The tape is 40 minutes long. Shelly knows because she stays and listens to the whole thing before she heads back home in the dark.

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