Chapter One.

I. Hate. Road trips.

I hate the sing-a-longs, I hate the stuffy feel of the car, and I hate hatehatethat stupid Fenton Ghost Ass Whooping Machine that my parents like to call an RV.

But mostly, I hated where it was taking my family, Tucker, and myself at the moment.

"Only 140 more miles to go, kids!" my dad laughed, a giddy grin on his face. "Oh, you guys are going to love the Ghostapalooza. Ghost Hunters from all over the country are gonna be there. Not to mention, Bill Murray!"

"I don't see what the huge deal is." I crossed my arms and turned my attention to my hands, trying to tell the differences between natural skin creases and scars from hitting the ground and sixty miles an hour while fighting ghosts.

"The big deal is that this is finally your father's and my chance to finally show up those jerks in white!" mom gave a triumphant smirk, and then turned to us. " Would any of you kids like a sandwich?"

"Oh, oh, I do! I want a sandwich!" dad nearly had a heart attack in his seat. Tucker snickered, and I rolled my eyes and smirked.

"Gee, Tuck. Sorry about dragging you around like this."

"No prob, dude. It was either this, or hang out with Sam and her new boyfriend all summer." A shiver ran down Tucker's back, and I laughed. It was true, ever since she had met Trevor at one of her Death Metal concerts, the girl had been head-over-heals. At first, I really didn't like the guy. He seemed iffy to me, but one day we were walking to the park and Sam had accidentally stepped on some glass. In one swift move, Trevor had sat her down on a bench, taken off her shoes, and was checking her feet to make sure she was alright.

I mean, what else could I do but give them my blessing?

I shifted in my seat and glanced over at Jazz. She was sitting quietly, listening to one of her psychology tapes, drifting in and out of sleep. Outside the window, I could see yellow hills, toppling over each other like the ocean had been turned to gold in the middle of a storm. From a distance, I-

"Jack, look out!" mom suddenly reached out for dad, but it was too late. Gravity had shifted, and I could feel myself being pressed forwards and towards the roof. Instinctively, I went intangible, but it was too late. I could already feel the roof of the car coming in contact with my skull, and faintly, I heard something crack. After that it was blurry.

People say that car crashes happen in slow motion. That they can see everything happen in front of them, and that they can't hear anything. I wish it had been that way. I wish I could have seen my mom and dad and Jazz in that last minute. I wish I could remember what Tuck was screaming, just before that god awful screech of metal on asphalt drowned everything else out. But I don't.

The last thing I can remember is being pulled out by these white rubber gloves, and being carried against a thin body. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought we were floating.