CHAPTER ONE
Islammed the bathroom cabinet, startled by my appearance. “Oh, Willa Walker, what have you done with yourself?”
I angled my head in all directions, like the world’s most rumpled model, but nothing helped.
Reflections were tough. A person could assume they had things handled and under control and then, wham! They caught a glimpse in the mirror, and it shattered the illusion with a crashing dose of reality.
Cocoa-colored eyes stared out, ringed by faded purple exhaustion. Blonde hair sat disheveled atop my head from the restless sleep.
At least it was long enough to be disheveled, I reminded myself.
Sharing the same pixie cut with my mom had been a lesson in humility.
She rocked the look. It fit her personality.
By contrast, I desperately yearned for the unruly blonde curls I’d taken for granted prior to undergoing multiple brain surgeries.
That dislike translated into self-consciousness.
Since the surgery, my locks had lengthened to the middle of my cheeks, until I resembled a nineties boy band heartthrob rocking a bowl cut. The problem with that being that I was no heartthrob. Oh, and I was a teenage girl.
“Hey,” I muttered at my reflection, “at least no one sees it but family.”
Oddly enough, the pep talk failed to bolster my mood.
Sighing, I splashed some cold water on my face and wandered back out to my room.
My room.
The notion brought an inkling of happiness that the mirror failed to instill. Even though Dad wrapped up construction and moved me in before Thanksgiving, every time I woke up in the newly renovated attic, I couldn’t help but grin.
After sharing a bedroom with my little brother until halfway through senior year, who could blame me? I’d taken immense pleasure in burning the bunk bed that’d served as my only privacy in our modest home.
As an apology for having us share for so long, Dad installed a bathroom in one of the two dormers with a soaking tub in front of the window. My bed occupied the other cubbyhole. It was a tight fit, but I liked it. It felt cozy sleeping in there.
The main floor area with the most head clearance boasted a low-profile couch and television, so in reality, it almost felt like having my own apartment. I was still working on convincing Dad to approve the mini-fridge idea. He’d give in eventually. I could be persuasive when it suited me.
I collapsed on the sofa, feeling the abrasive material rub against my bare arms like an itch on my soul.
“Rough night?”
I flinched, even though I should’ve grown accustomed to people popping into view from thin air. “Jeez, don’t do that, Gabriel.”
Gabriel shrugged and sat to my left, and it sort of hit me how many living mannerisms he’d readopted into his body language in the five months we’d been interacting. These days, I honestly couldn’t tell the difference between him and someone living.
His slim form looked as solid to me as the couch he couldn’t truly interact with. I could even confirm he was taller, whereas before I’d had to just assume because of the hovering—literally—with only a vague hint of legs.
From his warm skin to the thick black hair, and every enjoyable inch in between, he presented quite the handsome package.
I blushed and glanced away. Perfect. My irrational brain thought he was cute—because that would totally end well. Aside from the fact that he was, oh, I don’t know, dead, his ghost bosom-buddy was also my boyfriend who’d been murdered because of me.
“Willa?” he questioned. My plagued-by-night-terrors face must’ve been indistinguishable from my disturbed-by-hormonally-driven-musings face because Gabriel sat forward and asked, “Was it the dream about Manny getting shot?”
I exhaled a great gust of wind that left me swallowed up even further into the cushions. “Yeah. It was that one.”
“Wait, which version? The realistic one where he got grazed, or the guilt-driven one where that asshole cop adjusts his aim and puts one through my little cousin’s heart?”
“Little cousin?” I repeated, ignoring the question, a skeptical cant to my raised eyebrow. “You’ve been dead too long. He’s about your age now.”
Gabriel batted my statement away as if the words were pesky flies. “Nah, he will always be mi primito.”
I frowned at him. “Gabriel, you’ve been trying to help me with my Spanish for months now. When are you going to give in and accept the inevitable?”
Gabriel grinned. “Please explain to me, mi cielita, what it is you assume is inevitable.”
“Don’t call me a moldy little pomegranate,” I quipped without batting an eye.
His smile stretched wider. “I didn’t, but you cannot claim to have learned nada. You translated it partly right.”
That was all he focused on from my spiel? “You taught me ‘ito’ means little. That’s months of studying, condensed to a single word part, Gabriel.”
“Willa, Willa, Willa.” Each repetition flavored my name with more of his accent. Focus, Willa. “It is still progress, no?”
“Sure, but only because you use it on everything.” I adopted a falsetto. “Manny, mi primito. Chips that are taquitos! Oh, a cute pupp-ito. Willa, please, for me, eat a bag of Dor-itos.”
He scoffed. “I don’t sound like that, and I’ve never once told you to eat a bag of Doritos—and the ‘ito’ doesn’t mean little in that word. It’s a ship name the company came up with, combining dorado and Frito Lays. Thus, Doritos.”
He scoffed. “I don’t sound like that, and I’ve never told you to eat Doritos—thirdly, the ‘ito’ doesn’t mean little in that word. It’s a ship name the company came up with, combining dorado and Frito Lays. Thus, Doritos.”
“You know what ship names are? Like Brangelina or Dramione? Weren’t those before your time? And what’s a door-a-dough?” I asked.
“Dorado. It means golden. Like the road to El Dorado, the lost golden city?” He arched a thick eyebrow. “You think Brangelina was before my time? How long ago do you think I died?”
“Forever ago.”
He ignored my teasing, his frown digging deeper. “And what’s a Dramione?”
My cheeks heated. “Nothing.”
“Hmm.”
“So, do-si-do. That’s what I said.”
“Dorado,” he enunciated, his face deadpan. “I know you’re doing this on purpose.”
I grinned and sing-songed, “I’ll stop when you stop.”
“But what about your Spanish grade, cielita?” he gasped at the scandal, as if it would be the end of the world. Had he seen my life lately?
“Don’t call me a bedraggled little badger.”
He hesitated. “I do not even know what that is.”
Then, I shrugged, tugging a blanket closer even though I wore a hoodie. It was spring, but I dressed as if a blizzard could descend upon us with frosty fury at any second. “It’s online school. You could just sort of hover over my shoulder and feed me all the answers.”
“How dare you,” he stated, not looking an ounce upset. “You assume I’ll help you to cheat, and then accuse me of hovering? I do not hover.”
“Oh, I mean that figuratively, not literally. Why? Is this something that a ghost can say to other ghosts, but when a living person says it, it’s kind of—”
Our banter was interrupted as someone else melted into existence with an ear-tickling zing.
My attention shifted to the new arrival, a small smile warming my features.
Completing our trio was Gabriel’s partner-in-ghosthood, my… boyfriend? Ben died when we were still together, and we hadn’t discussed our status since reuniting. We sidestepped the deep topics, either by design or accident—probably design.
Sometimes it felt like he handled me with kid gloves.
Ben had never abandoned his living mannerisms, perhaps because he’d died more recently, forever seventeen.
I reminded myself to check the calendar. His birthday was coming up soon, and it would be nice to do something for him. I’d never forgive myself if I missed it, and it would be easy to do.
With a mom that put in insane, irregular hours as a nurse, and a dad that worked from home as a decently well-known off-road vehicle vlogger—basically an influencer despite how much he detested the label—only Nick’s comings and goings from school kept me having at least some notion of what day it was.
Online schooling blended the weeks together until I blinked, and it had been months since I’d spoken to any of my living friends. The thought scared me.
How easy would it be to turn into a reclusive cat lady with two bound ghosts to keep me company?
“Hi, Ben,” I breathed. Then I frowned, “Wait, you’re back early. Were your aunt and sister out when you checked on them?”
Ben shrugged one of his massive linebacker shoulders.
He’d been the star of the football team and one of the most popular guys in school.
With his deeply dimpled cheeks and sweet smile, I’d spent the lion’s share of our relationship battling self-doubt on why someone like him would want to date me, the weird quiet girl that no one noticed was missing at the beginning of senior year.
“Hello to you too, Willa. And, no, I…” Ben trailed off, as if at a loss. “They were home, but—”
Dread washed over me. I sat up in alert. “Is something wrong? Are they okay? What happened?”
“No, nothing like that. They’re good. Gina was getting ready for school. Aunt Hallie was asking her about piano practice. The tutor mentioned she’s been doing an excellent job.” Ben paused here, shaking his head.
Gabriel chimed in, “Then what’s the problem? You’re killing Willa here with the suspense.”
“I’m not sure. I got pulled back.”
Now Gabriel was the one on alert, moving faster than the eye could see so that he went from “sitting” one second and on his feet the next.
There his ghost was showing. I shivered at the reminder.
“Are we in danger? Is it the same thing I fought off at the construction site? What brought you back here?” Gabriel’s questions pelted out one after another in a strafing fire.
“It wasn’t anything malicious.” Ben put a hand to his chest. “I just felt like I needed to return.”
Gabriel tilted his head in thought before his gaze landed on me in consideration.