This is my first fic and I just wanted ya'll to enjoy it. I 3 to write so...yeah... I Love Jamie Kennedy's character "Eli" and I just figured that Eli should have a little bit of a spark in his life after his "girlfriend" died... I totally did not realise how closely related my Oc's name and the actors name were until i looked it up, so...srry 'bout that.

I do not in any way own Ghost Whisperer. I do own the Keller family and the blonde ghost.

My name is Jamie Keller. I am 17 years old. I have long brown hair an inch or two down my shoulders. My eyes are a light green, almost hazel. I have my moms smile, but I have my dad's personality. I take after my dad, not my mom. But sadly, my daddy passed away about 3 years ago, and ever since, my mom has never been the same.

She joined a dating service shortly after my dad's funeral, leaving me stuck babysitting my younger sister on a regular daily basis. And 2 months later, she decided that we had to move. So we packed up and left. Left our home, friends, and everything else. For 3 years, we moved all over the country. And for 3 years, my mom started thinking I was crazy.

You see, I can see dead people. Ghosts. Ever since I was younger I could; I could talk to them. They come to me for help, and after the death of my father, they started coming to me all the time; my mom started thinking I was crazy when I would start talking to people out of the blue, you know, people who weren't there. And of course, they would pop up in the worst places. Like a restaurant, while I'm eating, or during school, when I'm in the middle of a presentation. Sometimes it can get kind of awkward.

And now, my mom had decided to buy a small apartment in Grandview. It was a nice place, but frankly, I was tired of moving, so this place was nothing special. We drove around town, my mom making mental notes out loud:

"We're going to have to paint the house. The colours I think we should do are tangerine orange, cream, and a light rosy pink. What do you think girls?"

"I think its perfect mom!" my little sister Hanna said, being a little suck up.

"We? No, mom, I think you mean YOU. And were not moving into a house, were moving into an apartment! Get it straight. There is a difference you know. And NO we are NOT painting the place orange, or cream, or PINK!" I yelled. "They're disgusting colours!"

"How many times have I told you not to raise you voice? I'm right here. And there's no reason for you to be mad. You'll be able to get some fresh and play with kids your own age."

"Ugh!" I exclaimed. Honestly, my totally forgets I'm almost 17 and then she treats me like a 5 year old. She thinks I'm special needs. "Fresh air? I get enough fresh air! And stop using "play" when you're talking about me hanging with other teenagers! It's so immature and embarrassing. And I DO have a right to be mad! We've moved, what? at least 7 times in the last 3 years. All the friends I make, all the schoolwork I do, every thing is gone! I might as well not even go to school anymore, 'cause I'm just going to have to redo the year because were going to move again!"

"I'm just saying, we'll be able to start over. A new beginning!"

"Again!"

"She's just mad because she doesn't have a boyfriend," my sister taunted.

"Shut up Hanna! You know nothing about relationships! You're only 11! Plus we never stick around long enough for me to get to know anyone."

"So?"

"So you know nothing about relationships!"

"How many boys have YOU gone out with?"

"…2," I said in shame. Like every girl my age had at least gone out with 5 guys by now, but no, not me. Personally, I'd like do get to know a guy and have a relationship, but I can't with all these ghosts surrounding me.

"Exactly," said Hanna with an evil smirk. "And how many boys have you kissed?"

I stayed quiet as the tears started to come.

"You're not even supposed to be dating, brat," I said once I made sure my voice was strong enough.

"Whatev," Hanna said, trying to be cool. My mom sighed.

"A new beginning," she said to herself.

"Yeah, and the dead people won't go away."

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing at all."

"I'm also going to look into getting a psychiatrist for you to help you with your…friends."

That's what she called the ghosts that I help. She literally thinks I'm crazy, always talking to invisible people. She took me to see several psychiatrists when she started noticing me talking to myself. She called them my "imaginary friends". But now, I was much too old for such childish acts, and my mother was concerned that there was something wrong with me. I mean, I try really hard and all to help my ghosts cross over without drawing too much attention to myself, but that never seems to happen.

"No! I don't need help! I'm fine mom!"

"You're not fine, you're talking to people who are not there! Clearly, you have a problem. Your father did the same thing."

"Yes, I know."

My mom never talked about my father unless she was saying how crazy he was. From what I had found out myself, I had inherited my gift from him and that it had been passed down from generation to generation. My mom didn't know that I could see ghosts and I never told bothered to tell her, it's not like she needed to know. She would totally freak out if she did.

"Now stop pouting," my mom said. "Once you get some help, you can live a normal teenaged life, whatever that is."

"Normally??" I said, exploding. " I do live normally!" Except for the fact that I have dead people harassing me every other day!!

That's when I realised that no ghosts had come to me during the last few days. It was probably because no one had really died the way that we had come. But then again, people die everywhere. I wasn't bothered by it though. It would be better if they didn't bother me now. And, as if on queue, a ghost suddenly appeared in the backseat of our blue SUV beside my sister.

He looked normal: his beach blonde hair was pulled back off his face by a pair of dark sunglasses; he wore a yellow shirt with green army cut offs. He looked to be about 15, a few years younger than me. It made me sad, seeing all these dead people, some younger than me, many older, some my age. I wasn't afraid of death, but sometimes the ghosts that I helped made me think about now life is so precious and how we should try to live everyday to its fullest.

"Please," asked the boy. "Can you help me?" His voice was scratched and croaky. His eyes were sad and scared.

I looked forward and nodded stiffly. My mom looked at me through the corner of her eye. She sighed.

"Please, can you help me…now?"

I moved my head a fraction of a centimetre to each side while I pretended to be interested in something outside.

"What are you shaking your head for, Jamie?"

"I wasn't shaking my head," I said trying to act oblivious.

"Yeah, you did! You're probably talking to your imaginary friends again. MOM, Jamie's still crazy!"

"I don't have imaginary friends! So stop saying I do!"

"You just admit it! You were just talking to one right now."

I just rolled my eyes and didn't answer. Stupid eleven year olds. They think they know everything!

"SEE?" she practically screeched. Every one shuddered. Even the dead boy moved away from her. He looked at me, but I didn't look at him; I didn't want to give any other ideas to my sister.

"Hanna," my mom started. "Please, please just drop it, honey."

"But-"

"You heard her, brat! Drop it."

"Jamie, you too," she said as she stopped at a stop sign.

"I didn't do anything!"

She didn't say anything more, so we all stayed quiet. The ghost looked very uncomfortable. He looked at me and said, "Some other time then," and he disappeared. I felt guilty; I should have helped him. But there was nothing I could do now.

"Hey! Look at that," my mom said suddenly, as she pulled up to the curb. It was a small antique shop. It looked nice, but I wasn't really into antiques.

"Come on, let's go take a look. We can get something for the house. A house warming gift!" she said enthusiastically.

"A house-warming gift for the house? The place isn't even alive!"

"Oh, stop being such drama queen, Jamie. Just a quick peek inside," and with that, she and Hanna got out of the car and headed to the shop.

I hate this. I hate this. I hate this, was all I could think.