Disclaimer- I don't really own anything, much less Meg Cabot's characters.

Summary- First a mysteriously infuriating ghost hottie shows up at Suze's school, and then she discovers another dead girl that croaked more than 100 years ago. What's more is that the girl just may be the one to enable Jesse to finally move on...

A/n- Well, I tore apart my first Mediator fanfic (okay, so it was only a prologue and one chapter) and am starting over again. So if you recognize anything from this first chapter, you'll know why. Please R&R! Btw, this takes place after Haunted. (as if that's not obvious...)



Chapter 1

Kelly Prescott was still going on and on about the upcoming pep rally and how she so wants it to be the most memorable one in all the history of Mission Academy when I suddenly snapped my head up. I had, actually, been leaning into my desk slyly and welcoming my chestnut hair to fall into my face so no one will get suspicious that I was dozing off sitting in my chair straight as a flag pole or something. I mean, as vice president of this school, I should definitely be paying attention to every word the president is saying about showing school spirit and improving the procedures of an approaching event, right? Well, yeah I guess, but everything Kelly Prescott says is incredibly boring and cliché and of course, hypocritical. How anyone could stand to hear her talk for like, 45 minutes straight is beyond me.

Anyway, the reason I jerked awake was because, while I was sitting there just dreaming of Jesse's soft and tender touch, an image of Paul Slater popped into my head. You know, the all time jerk who thinks he's the most stunning guy on the planet? The one who has a demented mind that works in its own deranged ways? Yeah, that'd be him. It wouldn't exactly be unusual that a picture of him just unexpected appeared in my brain, since I always have to be extra careful about him, with him constantly plotting to destroy mine or Jesse's life and all. But this time, it is rather weird... because the image was of Paul sitting on his hospital bed, just staring straight head at nothing. I was pretty disturbed to notice that he looked very, very lonely and tired. I mean, that is definitely not like the Paul I know. Dreary and exhausted? Nuh-uh. So not Paul Slater.

But, maybe, just maybe, he's changed while he's staying at the hospital. He originally gone there to treat his wounds from a very intense fight with Jesse, but I believe he really went there to nurse his bruised ego that probably shrank to the size of a jellybean. It was formally the size of Jupiter, approximately. Serves him right for sticking his nose where it doesn't belong, if you ask me.

"Suze... SUZE!" Kelly yelled.

Startled out of my little reverie, I glared at her and went in just the same irritating tone as the one she used: "What?"

"I asked you if you would like to say anything or make any additional suggestions to the pep rally I'd been planning for the past 40 minutes."

Kelly, still staring at me with her eyes narrowed into unbelievably small slits, tapped her foot impatiently while I just tipped my chair back and gazed at her thoughtfully.

"Of course not, Kelly," I said brightly, speaking at last. "I'm sure you have everything planned out perfectly."

"Well, yes, but I have to go over several other things first and review the process of everything before we can all go."

And on and on she went again. As usual, I tuned her out. It wasn't worth listening to her rambling when I've already heard it about a thousand times before. Instead, I just sat there and debated whether to daydream about Jesse again or ponder over Paul. Ordinarily that's hardly even a choice. But this time, it's different. Yeah. I couldn't exactly help musing over a certain expression that is confusing me to death.

About 30 minutes later, I had made a choice out of total instinct. Then, I was out of that narcotic classroom and running down the hall toward the double doors at the end of the hallway, when suddenly I collided head on into someone and heard this painful howl of "Oww!"

I looked up into the second glare of the day of someone about the same age of me, maybe a couple of years older. He was causally dressed, his clothes covering his figure, which I couldn't help but notice, was very fine. He had a strong nose, full lips, and definitely high cheekbones. He had longish hair, with a simple flock covering one eye, giving him that mysterious, dangerous, look. Instantly an alarm in my head went off, and that, added to my already disturbing headache that had erupted when I crashed into him, was enough to make me grab onto the nearby lockers to keep from falling into a sick pile of flesh on the floor.

"What's with you?" The guy asked, in this irritated and sorta snobby voice. Such a turn on. Not.

"I think the question would be, what's with YOU?" I was still gasping for breath, so my voice came out really raspy, and I'm not sure that the guy even understood me.

But apparently he did, if his response was any indication.

"What do you mean, what's with ME? Nothing is wrong with me. You're the one who's having some trouble breathing over there. As if that's really hard to do."

Now, I appreciate sarcasm as much as the next person, but I did not like his tone. Like he's so much more superior than me. Whatever.

"I meant," I said through gritted teeth, "why you're lingering around in my school. What favor do you want to ask of me to help you move on."

The guy first looked rather confused, than glanced at me, next himself. Surprise dawned on his gorgeous features -I'm sorry, but it's true-, than disappointment. I guess he wasn't expecting to see just an outline of himself.

"Wait a minute... how can you see me anyway?" He asked, sounding genuinely baffled. "No one else can..."

Oh yeah. Did I mention that he's a ghost?

"Because," I said, tiredly rubbing my head, "I'm a mediator. I help the dead."

Suddenly the guy's all eager, coming closer to me and asking, "Oh, does that mean you can help me come back to life?"

You'd think an 18-year-old person would know by now that when you're dead, you're dead, but apparently not this certain snob. I mean, I can see why that's the first question I get whenever I meet a ghost, but come on, accept it, peeps, and just MOVE ON. What's so hard about figuring out that if the longer you stay in this world, the longer it's going to take you to get to wherever you're destined to be after you die?

"Oh yes, of course, that's exactly what mediators do," I said sarcastically, dashing away the small flick of hope in the poor guy's eye. Well so sorry, but it's his fault for actually thinking something so absurd could actually happen in the first place. What's so great about being alive anyway? No one's ever grateful for anything you do. It's when you die that people finally starts appreciating you. It's rather ironic, if you ask me.

"So, really, what can I do to help you?" I asked in a kinder tone. No one deserves to be reminded of the fact that he/she's dead, and this guy is no exception. It doesn't hurt to act friendly, so I'll try. But if he doesn't applaud the kindness I'm going out of my way to show him, then he can be trapped in this world for all eternity for all I care.

He gazed at me intently for a moment, and after a while I looked away, too uncomfortable to meet that one gray eye any longer. Something about him is quite unnerving, maybe perhaps that lock of hair covering his other eye? Could something be hidden in there? A truth waiting to be discovered? A secret yearning to be revealed? Whatever the case is, I wanted desperately to know what's shrouded in there, what that eye concealed. Maybe I should just...

Oh, what the hell. I needed to get out of there. I had somewhere to go.

"Okay, if you have nothing more to say to me, then can you please get out of my way so I can leave?"

Right at that moment, I was feeling totally fed up. So without even waiting for a response, I just pushed the dead guy aside and stomped toward the double doors.

"Actually, I do need some help," the guy called after me. "You claim to be a mediator but you walk away from the dead like it's the most natural thing in the world? Have you no sympathy at all? I thought those people who assist ghosts are kind-hearted and patient. I never expected I'd be so lucky as to meet someone like you as my 'savior'."

I was getting really tired of his sarcasm. And saying I'm not sympathetic or kind or patient? Maybe he should listen to himself talk sometime. Judging by that superficial smirk on his face I saw as I turned around slowly, he'd be way surprised that the person whose mouth those words sprouted from was his own. And what's up with saying I "claimed" I'm a mediator? I AM a mediator. I could see him when no one else could, right? Jeez. Someone obviously needs to go get a clue.

"I'm dead, girl, so you better help me," he said, a fake pouty puppy look on his face.

"I don't fall for guilt trips," I said stonily, but scowling all the same. "And I told you, I'm busy right now. It's not like you can't afford to wait. You should have all the time in the world right now, huh?"

Then, attempting to get away from him again, I just started walking down the hallway. But this time he followed me. Trying to ignore the ghostly figure that's disturbingly gliding beside me, I kept my eyes averted straight ahead and quickened my pace. Which of course did me no good.

Truth is, the guy is kind of creeping me out. You know, with the whole serious and mysterious thingy one minute and the sarcasm and mockery the next. I never knew someone who can change directions so fast. Hopefully, he'll find whatever it is that's keeping him here and move on ASAP. Which meant if I wanted him out of this world quicker than you can say, "shadowland", I had to help him.

"Look", I told him, now out of the school building and walking as fast as I can. "Can we talk again later? Just give me three hours."

"If you say so."

Then he dismaterialized.

Well. That's interesting. I had expected some kind of protest, or at least a sneed comment or, if he just pretend to ignore hearing me. But whatever. I'll deal with that later, after I've had a little chat with a certain Paul Slater at the hospital.

I owed him that much, I think. He did get into the fight in the first place because of me. But he did implied something that wasn't true to Jesse. God, he made it sound like we were actually doing something totally morally twisted when all we were, were just, um, tongue wrestling. Or jabbing a finger into his eye. Jesse would be better off just hearing the latter. Nevertheless, Jesse IS the one that jumped to conclusions. Conclusions that were actually related to what we were doing but not exactly. Anyway, how could Jesse even think I'd do such a thing? Behind his back, no less. I'd NEVER commit that kind of crime when I was so undeniably in love with him. Jesse should no doubt know that. Does the fact that he possibly doesn't, and that he imagined what I'd done –or haven't done- mean he doesn't trust me?

Nonsense. That can't be true, I told myself, pushing that one thought away from my head. He was just coming to my rescue from the all-time jerk Paul, and all he was trying to do was teach him a lesson to stay away from me.

But back to Paul. It has already been two days since he got carried away to the hospital. I wasn't that cruel and selfish as not to go visit him when he got the wounds partially –but of course, not wholly- because of me. I can't believe he was that stupid that he'd actually pick fights with Jesse. I mean, I'm quite flattered that they were somewhat fighting over ME, but come on, no one asked for it to become that intense. What's wrong with admitting surrender? Oh, wait, sorry I forgot. His gawddamn ego was at stake. Of course that's worth breaking every bone in his body for. Sheesh.

But anyway, aside from my guilty conscience, I also needed some answers. Some REAL answers. Not the little enigmatic comments here and there. Not the sarcastic touch to his tone that's meant for me to back off. No way. Not this time. This time, I will get some kind of explanation, useful or not, or I'm not leaving. But knowing Paul, he naturally wouldn't even want me to leave. Great. Just Great.

And that, was that I was contemplating when I arrived outside his hospital door 15 minutes later. What the heck I was going to do to get him to break down and give me any sort of response that does not include total crap or isn't intended as a distraction?

Well. I had no idea. But I'll think of something. I always do.

With that in mind, I got all ready to knock on his hospital door, when all of a sudden I heard a voice behind me that more or less froze the blood circulation in my veins.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Susannah Simon."

Um, sounds familiar?



A/n- Finally done! Okay, I'll admit that this first chapter isn't exactly that interesting and captivating, but what did you expect? First chappies are always one of the hardest for me, because I have to try so hard to make sure you guys don't fall asleep or something. But of course, I left tons of loose ends, so hopefully later chapters will be more entertaining. Oh btw, I really didn't get the 'lock of hair' thing from Nicola and the Viscount. Seriously, I came up with this first chapter plot thingy before I even read that book. And please review. I want your honest opinion. Constructive criticism are welcomed. If you're gonna flame me, at least include some helpful advice with it, all right? But I'd highly appreciate it if you could tell me what you think. Thank you and bye for now!