I don't think I've ever been this tired in my whole life. Or drained. Or anything. All I know is that I think my jaw is permanently stuck open on account of that I've been yawning for practically the last 3 minutes, and my eyes keep on drifting shut and then someone pokes me in the ribs. Ugh. Ugh.

Welcome to an Ackerman-Simon car trip to the Safeway 9 blocks away from the house. house.

Sleepy drives like a maniac, which he is not- his real name is Jake, but he looks how I feel most of the time. However, he has *excellent* abs, so I sort of forgive him. Even though he's my brother and I shouldn't like him 'cause of his excellent abs, I do, so shoot me... Or not. me. or not.

"I'll get the Cheetos!" Doc chirped eagerly from the seat next to me, grinning. grinning.

"I've got dibs on the Pringles," I claimed, yawning once more.

"Cherry Vanilly CremeCrème Hansen's," grinned Brad, whom I call Dopey on account of- well, he's dopey. 'Nough said. said.

My mom and Andy (my stepfather) were going away on a "romantic weekend" in San Luis Obispo this weekend, and they left the *entire house* to us for two days. We didn't argue- using their lovey dovey love (their only hindsight) as our advantage. Not that my mom and Andy aren't totally cool parents-they parents- they are, really- butare, really-but it's always fun for the parental units to leave for a weekend. weekend.

They totally trust us. us.

Okay, soooo, maybe I'm exaggerating a little. little.

Okay, a lot. They're having at least four of our rich neighbors check in on us everyday to make sure we're not having any "wild teenage parties." That's hardly the case for me, but my so-called "popular" brothers Jake and Brad (Dopey and Sleepy) are quite the babes at my school, according to several of Kelly Prescott's (MPGISY: most popular girl in sophomore year) friends. And poor Doc- he's so smart that he could never be considered popular because he can calculate the IQ of a cheerleader just by slashing the room temperature in half. Well, actually, he can do a more accurate version of Dumb-O-Meter (that's my way)- and his is way nicer.

way)-and his is way nicer.

I digress- my brothers are still going to figure out a way to have a "bitchin' rave" (read: lame party consisting of a few rounds of Parcheesi and Wave Rider). Or, at least they're stocking up for it and I don't have to pay for anything. My best friend Gina in New York (where I'm from) was actually kind of right- there are advantages to having working brothers who think they're cool and have big muscles. muscles.

Well, aforementioned, Sleepy does. Brad's aren't bad, but Sleepy's are better. Don't worry,worry; I'm not this scary perverted incestuous girl. I just happen to notice those sorts of things. things.

So, I haven't complained at all about them planning a party- and I won't tattle, seeing as they didn't tattle on me when I was supposedly on a "gang initiation" when a scary cheerleader ghost was excorsizedexorcized to wherever and the breezeway collapsed at my school. I'll get into more of that later- not scary cheerleaders, I mean, *ghosts*. *ghosts*.

That's not the reason I'm so sleepy, though. I don't quite know what it is, and it wasn't because last night a little girl ghost had popped into my bedroom and wouldn't stop crying. She wanted chocolate milk and her daddy- daddy..

and oh-And oh, I guess now would be a good time to tell you. There's never really a good time, but I might as well start while I'm ahead, right? right?

I'm a Mediator. I talk to dead people. people.

Yes, shut up, it's true, and NO, I don't own a white lace-up jacket, thank you. you.

I like to get this over and done with, you know? Because I'm really sick of leading into my stories with just my normal life, because I don't have a normal life. My normal life is so un-normal... It's, well, not normal. un-normal...it's, well, not normal.

Anyway.

Anyway.

That's the short and sweet version. I could go into about how there's a hot Spanish-American ghost named Jesse haunting my bedroom and how I can't muster up the strength to make him go back (hell, that's the only way I'm *ever* getting a guy in my bedroom, dead or not) alive) and the fact that he has these lovely dark eyes with long long eyelashes and the- if I went on any farther, it would start to be the long version describing the many words he calls me when he gets angry or when we're having a rather civil conversation. Querida is one of words he calls me often, and I'm a little bit scared to look it up in Doc's Spanish-English dictionary because I'm not sure I want to know what it means. Also, his voice has that accent that's absolutely knee-to-floor-rendering, which is why you'll find me holding on to inanimate objects most of the time to keep my balance.

My desk is practically worn through on one edge, severely lightened because of the immense tons of sweat pouring through me almost each and every day. day.

But anyway. About the little girl. She didn't get it that she was dead and it was absolutely awful to tell her. You always feel bad for the little kids- they always make me want to cry- and I'm not the crying type of girl. The adults are sometimes not so sympathetic or sweet and oftentimes they try to club me with large pipes, and then I don't like my job so much. And then sometimes I have to kick them in uncomfortable places, seeing as how I can touch ghosts. ghosts.

They're not really cold, actually- they are to normal people, but not to me. They're actually very nice and warm and some of them have very nicely defined tan six-packs. Well, that's only Jesse seeing as how sometimes his white shirt falls open a little and I can see down it. God, I really need to stop talking about Jesse.

Jesse.

The little girl went back sometime in the early dawn, after I scurried underneath my large canopy bed (I swear to God, I would've never picked it out, but my mom loved it so I haven't tried to hack it to pieces or anything) and grabbed a small stuffed Koala bear that I had when I was four. Then, she stopped crying when I gave it to her and she smiled, and like *that*, she just disappeared. disappeared.

I could've gotten 4 more hours of sleep if only I'd thought of that earlier. earlier.

And then it was like Jesse wanted to spite me, so he popped up out of nowhere 2 minutes later (when I was all comfortable and snuggled into my bed). I'm not exactly sure what he said, but I caught "Querida, nice work," and "you could have given it to her earlier." Ah. Good. So he hadn't heard of how I sort of lost my temper with an older woman another day ago- and if only it had been that simple. simple.

He had heard, and so then he griped on me about that for the next few minutes after that, while I tried to burrow myself farther down into the feather bed. bed.

He gave a loud sigh and I swear, I could hear his head shaking, and when I peered out again, he was gone. gone.

That's so annoying. annoying.

So that's why I'm trudging up and down the soft drink aisle right now, Doc trailing after me with his Cheetos. 'Cos Jesse is as annoying as a- well, he's annoying, and let's leave it at that. that.

"Did another ghost come last night?" he asked excitedly, practically bouncing up and down. Doc gets really excited about these things, because even he can't explain some of the things that happens. Makes him feel like a scientist to explain all this stuff tome- me-because I actually listen to him and it makes him feel important. He's going to make an awesome astrophysicist someday. someday.

"I look that bad?" bad?"

"You don't look bad. You just look a little sleepy," he assured me, glancing down at the Nutrition Facts of an RC Cola. Cola.

I hate it when people do that, by the way. Ruins all my fun and makes my eyes instinctively shoot to the calories and saturated fat table. table.

"Yeah. Little girl. Wanted chocolate milk. Wailed for four hours. Wanted daddy. Gave her bear. Stopped crying. Went away," I formed inconclusive fragments of sentences, unable to perform on a normal level. level.

I checked out the new Sprite can while Doc proceeded to tell me the psychological tendencies of little girls. As though he needed to tell me; he sometimes forgets that his big sister actually knows some of the stuff he talks about once in a while. "Well, I just hope the ghosts will leave me alone this weekend," I told him. "We've got important things to do." do."

He glanced at me from under his glasses, his eyebrows raised. "You mean Brad and Jake have important things to do. And by the way, I'm not tattling on you guys, either. I might be a nerd, but-" but-"

"You're not a nerd," I interrupted him. He smiled at me, shaking his head. head.

Doc wasn't a nerd, really. He was actually, the best step-brother I've ever had. Especially compared to Sleepy and Dopey, who never cleaned up after themselves and never- well, Sleepy was okay, sometimes. But seriously, they didn't EVER leave the toilet seat down. It's really gross and that's why I'm so very happy that Doc let me have the room I'm in, even though Jesse's in it too. The great thing about the room is that it has its own bathroom. bathroom.

And its own hot piece of man, but that is again, not the point. point.

"But I'm not a scandalmonger," he finished, finally grabbing a 6-pack of the new Cokes with lemon in them. them.

Which, by the way, are highly addictive and have made me quit my Diet Coke spree. spree.

Doc and I left the cokesoda aisle to go find Dopey and Sleepy, who were probably ravaging the chips/dip/cookie aisle as though they were Father Dom (I'll get into him later, too) in a room full of cooperating lost souls.

"Suze! Whaddya think about this? 3-D Doritos or Natural Doritos?" Doritos?"

Brad had the two orange bags firmly in his grasp on aisle nine, looking indecisively at the both of them, with a speculative look on his face that reminded me of Father Dominic. Dominic.

Okay, I guess now would also be a good time to discuss Father Dominic, whom I call Father Dom. He's the Principal/Dean/Operator priest at my school, the Mission Academy. He's a mediator too, but he tends not to kick so much as talk patiently with the recently or not so recently deceased. He's a totally nice guy and lots of times gets me out of big hunks of trouble when things are broken and have obviously been mystically shattered. Except he doesn't really approve of my "consorting" with Jesse, but, whatever, he's a priest, he should be like that. Especially with all the weird Catholics out there nowadays. Thank goodness I'm not. not.

A Catholic, I mean. He helps me out a lot, and I've managed to get him hooked on bad habits. The only two bad habits I wish he would quit were A.) smoking, and B.) interrupting Jesse and I at crucial times when I'm almost positively sure he's going to pronounce his undying passionate love to me and make out with me on my roof. Of course, that's not *ever* gonna happen, but it is a really fun fantasy to run through your head when you're in US History, lemme tell you. you.

Actually, my mom is the one who tends to break up the cute little flirty signals I think Jesse may be sending to me. Dammit, gottamust stop thinking about Jesse. Because, you know, he's a ghost and all. all.

"I vote 3-D," mumbled Sleepy, sending me back to the Safeway, obviously hiding something behind his back. I wondered to myself for a moment if those were condoms, and I burst out laughing inside. I always kind of think that way- not pervertedly,way-not perversely, but it wouldn't be what you expected from Sleepy. Sleepy.

"Whatcha got there, Jake? Candy?" I chirped, winking my left eye, arms crossed behind my back.

"No." He turned bright red.

Then he dropped the package behind him. I started laughing, unbelieving that he actually would drop it. Apparently accidents happened, and they wouldn't happen if he didn't have his... his..

"Cherry flavoured Trojan Condoms: XTRA XTRA LARGE FOR XTRA SENSSSSSAAAAATIONS!" EXTRA LARGE FOR EXTRA SENSSSSSAAAAATIONS!"

I started snorting and doubling over, resting my back on a bunch of Sun Chip packages, pressed up against the muted steel shelves.

Doc looked at me, puzzled. Dopey's mouth hung open, and he shook his head, growling, "Un-uhn. I know we agreed on a public party, but bro, you aren't gonna get some while Mom and Dad are away." away."

Doc practically choked on his cough drop, which he takes for his allergies. "Should I cover my ears for this?" he asked me warily, his beautiful blue eyes wide underneath his wire-rimmed glasses. glasses.

"Oh, don't worry, it'll be fun," I told him, now crossing my arms underneath my chest over the DKNY symbol thingiethingy on my blue shirt.

"It's not like he was getting any before," I remarked, wrinkling my nose and giggling. "Or he would be getting any while Mom and Andy were here.... Really, there's just not any getting." getting."

"Nice," commented Dopey, tilting his surfer blonde head at me. "Put those back," he said commandingly, handing over the box he had picked up to inspect more closely.

"You can't make me, this is my money!" gritted Sleepy. Sleepy.

"Well, then, you're not going to get any chance to use them if Doc and Suze are following you around at the party, are you?" you?"

"Hey," I objectioned. "I'd be a very cool chaperone." chaperone."

"If you were dead, yeah," retorted Sleepy. Sleepy.

I had to stop myself from making any comments on that one. one.

Dopey glared at Sleepy, and finally, he picked the box out of Dopey's hands and hid it between the two bags of Sun Chips I was leaning against. "All right, we have enough stuff? More people are bringing some things. I told them pretty much, no alcohol, because of the neighbors, which means everybody coming will be pre-party-drunk. So, everybody will just have to be really hyper." hyper."

I rolled my eyes. Guys are so stupid. They always need alcohol or sex to have a party.

10 minutes and a trunkful later, we were all checked out and leaving the Safeway, Sleepy's hands clenching the steering wheel, glaring over once and a while at Dopey. Dopey.

I smiled to myself. myself.

Yep. This was going to be one "bitchin' rave."

-------------

"You know what, David? I think we better leave the chessboard *in* the closet," I informed him.

He sighed. "You're probably right. Chess isn't so easy to play with so many people coming. But I called Danny and Blake, and they're coming over..." Danny and Blake were two of Doc's friends, both of them who were very intelligent for their age but very clueless on the ways of a high school party. As was Doc, who frequently researched the subject but had never gotten the chance to attend anything but a study party.

"Well, that's good," I said. "Then feel free to give their cute little checkered selves some air, in your own room, probably."

He looked at me, a confused expression on his face. "I think that was a joke, but I don't think I got it."

I patted my younger step-brother on the shoulder, sadly. "That's all right." As all my humor is lost on ghosts, it is also lost with poor Doc.

He left the kitchen, where we had been sipping non-alcoholic (as to not damage our young livers) drinks on the marble counter that had the little seats you could sit on and pretend you were at some rustic country bar. Which, we weren't, being in an old-new Victorian house in Carmel, California.

I took a long sip of my Diet Lemon Coke, my feet dangling carelessly from the chair, before I was rudely interrupted by Dopey, who came in brandishing several CDs in a CD player.

"You're from New York, right?" he asked, a little breathlessly as though he had been running around for hours to collect all of his stupid boy CDs and stick them in their appropriate plastic coverings.

"No, I'm from Swahili," I replied sarcastically.

He looked at me blankly. I swear to God, my step-brothers are all just clueless.

"No, I know you're from New York, but that's not the point. Which one is better, in your opinion?"

"Sound-wise, or impress-your-friends wise, or dance-wise?"

"Um... I guess all of those?"

"Right. Lemme see." I held out one hand expectantly, and he walked around the counter to give the CD case to me. Plopping it down on the counter, I leafed through his selection, which seemed to involve mostly rap and angry metal music. If Beethoven were a ghost, and he were here, he would have exploded our entire house.

"Well, what a culturally refined boy you are," I pinched his cheek. He slapped it away and his cheeks flushed.

"You don't think any of them are good?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing. "Really? I kind of thought girls... went for the bad-boy thing."

I practically choked on my drink, I was laughing so hard. "You're joking, right?"

Dopey didn't seem to appreciate being called a non-magnetic girl magnet. I knew this because he slammed his CD foam case shut, and glared at me.

"So what do you suggest, Madame. I'm-The-Life-Of-The-Party?"

"Geez. Calm down, would you? For one, I would ditch the M.C. Hammer CDs."

"But they're old school!" he complained.

"Yeah, Brad, they're *old.* Not old school," I corrected him.

He had a look on his face as though he thought that I had said that he had been living his life the wrong way his entire life. "I am not ditching M.C. Hammer," he said with as much courage as he could under the situation.

"Let me just go and get Sl-Jake, would you?"

As expected, I didn't get up from my seat to go walk upstairs and knock on his door, like an athletically fit person would, although I definitely needed it.

"JAAAAAAAAAAAAAKKKE!" I yelled, using that New York lung power that came in handy when living in a four-men household. "COME DOWN HERE AND TELL YOUR BROTHER THAT MC HAMMER IS NOT ACCEPTABLE IN A PUBLIC LOCATION, SUCH AS THIS PARTY WE'RE HAVING IN WHAT, TWO HOURS?"

Four hours later, Jake came down to sleepily rub his eyes and mumble, "Brad. Put down the M.C. Hammer."

All right, it had been more like four minutes. But in Jake-time, it's very, very, very slow. It's like watching Baywatch in really slow motion, so they're just stuck up in the air after each running step they take.

"See?" I said triumphantly. "Even Jake thinks it's stupid, and he's..."

Dopey looked at me expectantly.

"Very cool," I finished. *Smooth,* Gidget. ------------------------------

All right, that was my first Mediator fic.... Tell me how I did, please!