Disclaimer: The Mediator is a book by Meg Cabot. I am ss10009, not Meg Cabot. I don't own the Mediator, nor do I attempt to make money off of this fanfiction.

Note: Follows the canon of Books 1 - 6 and does not reflect anything that happened in Proposal or will happen in Remembrance.

Chapter One – About the Haughty and a Hottie

If someone had asked me two days ago what the word "haughty" meant, I would've told them Maria de Silva. (Unless I thought they'd said "hottie," in which case I would've responded by naming her cousin.) Of course, that answer wouldn't make any sense to them unless they were Monterey county history buffs, but it still held true. That girl was haughty incarnate.

But that's what I would have responded with if you had asked me two days ago.

Now I knew better.

With her permanently upturned nose, pouty lips, and fussy demeanor, Sandrine Robinston (not Robinson, mind you) was truly what the word "haughty" meant. For good measure, she also meant "insolence." She seemed to have it set in her mind that I was an evil, disgusting troll that existed to be bossed around. One, I wasn't evil. I've seen evil before, and I'm quite a bit different from it. (Paul Slater and I are not the same person.) Two, I wasn't disgusting either. I mean, I'm not Jessica Biel or anything, but I'm not exactly Rosie O'Donnell either. And as far as me not being a troll, I lived in the Carmel Hills, not under a bridge. Sure, it was a converted boarding house from the 19th century, but under a bridge it was not.

I didn't exist to be bossed around either, but Sandrine was still doing it. Bossing me around, that is. I was currently in Algebra II and sitting near Sandrine. Except Sandrine didn't belong there; she didn't even belong in this plane of being. Sandrine belonged to the exclusive club of people who'd died and, for some reason, hadn't been able to move on to wherever it is that people go after they die.

So instead of being in Heaven or Hell or anywhere but my math class, Sandrine was currently perched on top of my desk, screaming at the top of her lungs. Because the universe regularly conspires against me, I was the only mediator in the classroom. I've got every class but two with Paul this semester, and Sandrine decided to show up here and now, while Paul was in Calculus with Cee Cee and everyone else who had a knack for math. That meant I was the only one in class struck by a growing desire to clasp my hands over my ears in pain.

Instead of covering my ears, I shot my hand straight up into the air. Sister Rachel took a break from her explanation on solving equations with multiple variables to look at me.

"Can I go to the restroom?" I asked. My voice was louder than normal, and I could still barely hear myself over the sound of Sandrine's vocal accompaniment.

Sister Rachel eyed the clock, and Sandrine took the opportunity to breathe. Ghosts didn't have to breathe, but apparently Sandrine was just as bad at being a ghost as she was at being nice or complacent. I took the opportunity to give her a covert punch in the ribs. She fell to the floor, and Sister Rachel looked at me oddly. Thanks to Sandrine, it looked like I'd just been punching thin air. If we had a school psychiatrist, I'd probably be in their office right now.

"There are only two minutes left of class," Sister Rachel said. "Take your things with you."

I pushed everything into my bag, thanked her, and left. Sandrine materialized in front of me a few moments later, scowling and looking pissed off. It was a classic 'I-just-got-punched-in-the-ribs' expression for ghosts. Nothing broken or bruised ever stays that way for ghosts, unfortunately.

"What was so important back there?" I asked.

Sandrine looked like she was torn between telling me what was wrong and just plain telling me off. In the end, she decided on the former. "I think I know why I'm still here," she said.

It was those eight words that started it all.

I don't enjoy skipping class to deal with mediator business. Skipping class to handle ghosts was a large part of what landed me a horrible reputation-and an even worse report card-back in Brooklyn. But when ditching class also meant ditching Sandrine I was much more amicable towards the idea. Besides, if Sandrine stuck around for my next class, she'd wind up meeting Paul. And Paul wasn't as "soft" as I was. I was pretty sure that if she showed up in history next period he'd just send her off to Shadowland.

As pretentious and annoying as Sandrine was, she didn't deserve to be exorcised.

Ultimately, I was acting in everyone's best interest. Besides, it wasn't like this planning wasn't costing me. After a long walk from the Mission, I'd had to board a trolley four of tourists because Dopey still had the car keys, and I couldn't exactly snag them from him in the middle of class.

"Tell me about this Henry guy," I said as we got off of the trolley. I spoke softly so that it looked like I was just mumbling something to myself and not holding a full fledged conversation with the invisible-to-everyone-but-me ghost beside me.

"Henry was my fiancé," Sandrine said. "We were to be married at the end of the year."

"The end of the year you died, right?" I asked. Sandrine, I knew, had died at the ripe old age of 27 in the year 1926 from a case of diphtheria.

Sandrine nodded.

"And now you want to know what happened to him?"

There was another nod.

The whole key to dealing with ghosts is knowing what they want. If they know why they're here, then they're usually a lot easier to deal with. When they don't know, or when their requests are nigh impossible to grant, then they're edgy. Of course, most ghosts are usually a little edgy. Otherwise this job would be way too easy, and whoever it is that's in charge of this whole mediator thing does not want this job to be easy.

"You don't think Henry died of natural causes then?"

Sandrine scowled at me. "I know he did not die of natural causes, you little twit. If that had been my thought, then why would I not know what happened to him? Would it kill you to take a few seconds of thinking time before you speak and prove you're dimwitted?!"

"Be a bitch about it, then. God," I said. I'd forgotten to say this line quietly, however, and several tourists were giving me odd, affronted looks. I quickly hurried on and hoped they didn't notice that my hand was cinched tightly around thin air as I dragged Sandrine with me. She protested loudly to this treatment, but I was the only one that could hear her outrage towards "being treated like an inexpensive harlot."

I dragged her a few more yards to our destination, and I pushed open the doors of the Carmel Historical Society.

The Historical Society seemed like a logical place to find out more about this Henry guy. From what Sandrine had told me, Henry had been important. I was pretty sure that most of the things Sandrine told me were just pretentious garbage, especially when it came to the people in her favor (the people in her favor adding up to two people, herself and Henry), but I figured it was worth a shot anyway.

I was not at the Historical Society to see him, if that's what you're wondering. I mean, for all I know, he might not even be working today. He could be on break right now, or something.

The possibility of seeing Jesse was simply a perk.

So sue me if I wanted a spot of sunshine in my day. I'd been dealing with Sandrine for a couple of days now in addition to studying for semester exams. I hadn't so much as spoken to Jesse in nearly a week, and I hadn't seen him in person in over a two weeks. Getting closer to the winter holidays meant getting busier with studying, and my mom was adamant that I focus on school more now that I was a junior.

I'd never done too well on tests back in Brooklyn, mainly because I was busy ditching class to help out wandering spirits and therefore hadn't familiarized myself very well with the material, but my mom seemed determined to change that this year. I'd done OK on my final exams in sophomore year, so I wasn't sure why she was stressing so much, but I guessed it might have had something to do with the SATs. Junior year was the ideal test-taking time, apparently, and she'd started mentioning the importance of studying for it a few weeks ago.

Between the academic pressure and mediation, I hadn't been able to squeeze in any Jesse time, which was strange. Ever since I'd known Jesse, we'd spent a fair amount of time together. After all, we'd been forced to room together for several months. I'm not saying I'm one of those whiny girls who can't function away from her boyfriend or anything, but I was very much so accustomed to spending time with Jesse. He was more than a boyfriend to me. He'd become my best friend and—.

"There he is!" Sandrine said, pointing towards a portrait on the wall.

The portrait, probably painted with oil, contained multiple people. They were wearing fancy clothes and those weird facial expressions that people in old time-y photos usually wear. You know, that really stoic 'I-wish-I-were-somewhere-else' look.

I looked at the portrait for a few moments. I assumed I was looking for a guy in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. That didn't help though. All of the guys in the portrait, except for one crusty looking old guy, appeared to be around the same age.

"Which one is he?" I asked.

She turned her nose at me even more than usual. "Can you not tell? My Henry is the handsome one, of course."

I continued looking at the picture. I wouldn't call a single one of these guys handsome. I guess standards of beauty have really changed since then. I wondered, idly, if Jesse was considered as attractive in his day as he was now.

"The leftmost in the front row."

I found Henry. His only distinctive facial feature was his lips. They were thin and looked like they were excellent for sneering. I've only known Sandrine for a couple of days now, but it is definitely her to go for the sneering type. Then I noticed something else about Henry. He was the proud owner of a strong, muscular frame. Maybe that was why she was so enraptured by him. That and the fact that his strong, muscular frame was wrapped in an expensive looking coat.

Sandrine busied herself with swooning while I started to read the sign beneath the portrait.

The Ashforth Family

A family of wealthy investors who inhabited Carmel...

I began to speed read, catching tiny details as I went. They'd gotten rich off of the stock market and had been busy living their life of riches up to the maximum when the Great Depression hit.

In March of 1930, the Ashforth family lost virtually all of their wealth, over $460,000 worth of funds.This resulted in the near immediate suicides of patriarch Michael Ashforth and his two eldest sons, Archibald and Henry.

"I know why Henry died," I said.

Sandrine turned and gave me an imploring look. "Why?" she asked quickly.

"Four years after you died, the Great Depression hit."

I could tell by the momentary lapse of confusion on her face that she didn't know what the Great Depression was. She masked it and responded with, "Why should that matter?"

"The Ashforth's were a family of investors, and they lost all of their money on the stock market. Henry killed himself, Sandrine."

I saw Sandrine's face blanch, which said a lot. She hadn't exactly hit the beach when she was alive, and her skin was already as pale as ivory.

"Even if I had lived..." she murmured. Her tone was destitute, and her voice and body were already beginning to fade. Sandrine had moved on.

I felt a little bad for her. Even if she had been a haughty bitch, she'd still been in love.

I turned away from the portrait and cast a quick glance towards the wall, looking for a clock. Nearly an hour and a half had passed since I'd left school. In fact, I only had forty-five minutes left of my final class. My face took in a few bits of sunshine as I turned towards the door to return to the Mission.

"This concludes our tour of Carmel when it was known as Rancho Las Manzanitas," I heard a tour guide say.

And I knew Jesse's voice well enough to not have to turn around to confirm that he was nearby. Of course he was nearby. He worked here.

I also didn't have to turn around to know when Jesse spotted me either. He broke off mid-sentence while answering a question from one curious tourist. The Q&A section was fairly brief however, brief enough for Jesse to descend upon me before I could properly exit the building.

"Susannah," Jesse said as he peered curiously at me. "It's half past two on a Thursday. Shouldn't you be in school?"

"I was in school, Jesse. I just had some mediator business to take care of."

"Business so important that it couldn't wait for another hour? Doesn't missing classes have some sort of repercussion or reflection on your transcripts?" Jesse looked a little peeved at me as he continued to chastise me for my "bad behavior."

I was trying to pay attention to him, I really was. But one, after all the lectures I'd received about ditching class back in Brooklyn, there wasn't much new anyone could say to me on the subject. And two, Jesse looks even hotter than usual when peeved. He doesn't make things shake anymore because he's alive now, but the scar in his eyebrow still seems more prominent, and it makes him even more attractive.

"Susannah," Jesse said, stressing my name.

"Yeah," I replied, hoping that my face wasn't spelling out 'I-Was-Not-Listening-to-You.'

"I asked how much time you had left in school."

"Less than an hour."

"How beneficial would your return be?"

I didn't understand the question for a few moments. But I grinned at him once hd did.

The story of how Suze Simon skipped school to mediate a ghost had just turned into the story of how Suze Simon skipped school and hung out with her no-longer-ghostly boyfriend. And if you asked me, that made for a much better story.

Next Chapter: When it All Falls Apart

End Notes:

This is embarrassing, but I promised myself I wouldn't post anymore fanfiction unless it was complete. I have been sitting on this fic in development hell since 2010. I completed it in 2012 but then needed time to make major revisions for plot holes. I still haven't finished editing all of the plot holes and incongruities, but I feel ready to post the beginning now. There are nineteen chapters in total and an epilogue (that I...haven't finished), and I should be able to post the remaining chapters (apart from the epilogue) regularly. Thanks for sticking with me through this first chapter and please leave a review if you didn't think this chapter was completely horrible (or even if you did).