A/N: Thanks for all the great reviews, guys! I'm glad you like it so far! Hope you like this next installment! I've had this chapter ready for ages (well, okay, a couple of days), but was not able to log in until now. Ugh. Anyway…here it is!

Chapter Three

My name is Susannah Simon. And in case you haven't noticed? Yeah, I see dead people.

No, I'm not crazy or anything like that. Really, I'm no different from any other seventeen-year-old American girl. I mean, hey, some girls join garage bands. Some girls go out for sports, or cheerleading. Others, like me, talk to the dead. Everybody's got their thing. It's just like…

Oh my God. Oh my God. Who am I kidding? I am such a freak.

But the point is, my 'special talent'? Yeah, not so fun. In fact, I used to view it as a kind of curse, until…

Well, until I met Jesse, the ghost of a wealthy rancher's son who was murdered in my bedroom 150 years ago.

Yes, you read that right. My boyfriend used to be dead.

Don't even ask me to clarify that one. Trust me. It is one very long, very confusing story involving a cornucopia of disturbing concepts like time travel, shifting, and, oh yeah, creepy Paul Slater.

Though really, he's not so creepy anymore. Paul, I mean. Now that he's not trying to figure out ways to get rid of Jesse and generally make my life miserable, he's actually kind of fun to hang around.

But anyway, with a demanding, time-consuming, and generally weird hobby like mine, sometimes a little… bending of the rules is required to get the job done, if you know what I mean. This includes such feats of daring as breaking and entering, thievery (though can it really be considered theft, when I'm taking it from someone who shouldn't even have it in the first place, and delivering it to the person who should?), and, as I mentioned before, a little sneaking out.

Needless to say, this mediator business has gotten me into big trouble on more than one occasion. Seriously, you wouldn't believe the number of times I've been escorted home by New York's finest.

But I'd really been trying to avoid that kind of thing since we moved out here to Carmel. And so far, I had done a pretty good job of it, too. I mean, the police have only had to take me home once, and that totally wasn't my fault, I wasn't even in trouble that time.

So I'd totally been on my best behavior for the last year. Heck, I'd even managed to attain (and, for once, hold on to) some semblance of a good reputation.

I guess that's why my mom was so mad.

Sometimes I feel so sorry for my mom. I mean, she's such a nice lady, and all she wants is a normal teenaged daughter. Instead, she's stuck with me, Suze Simon, Messenger of the Dead. Can you blame her for being disappointed?

Anyway, as soon as I saw her face, I totally knew I was in for the reaming of a lifetime. And my mom? Yeah, she's a TV journalist. She is totally good at grilling people. So if she wants to know something, it is totally hard to keep her from discovering it.

But I had to. Because if I told her the truth, do you think she'd believe me? No way. My mom only believes things she can see…and she definitely can't see ghosts. My butt would be sent to another therapist faster than you can say 'certifiably insane'.

So, as you can see, it was vitally important that I kept where I'd been and what I'd done that evening a secret. As it was equally important that she didn't see the bright red rope burns around my ankles, thus heightening her suspicions, I moved quickly so that the daybed blocked them from view.

"Mom!" I gasped.

She was sitting on my bed, pressing her lips together in that way moms have when they're mad. You know, when their mouth is just this thin, straight line, and it kind of looks like they don't even have lips? Yeah, that one.

"Well, Susannah?" she said casually. Way too casually. "Would you mind telling me exactly where you've been for the past couple hours?"

I gulped, thinking fast. I needed to tell her anything but the truth, and something that hopefully wouldn't get me into too much trouble. But what?

"Well, Mom," I began, licking my lips nervously. Think, Susannah, think! "You see…there was this party at Kelly Prescott's," Ha! Perfect. "and I really wanted to go…only, I didn't think you'd let me, since it's a school night and all." I hoped she was too mad to notice that I was all dirty and totally not in regular Suze Simon party attire. "I'm sorry…I know it was totally jerky of me."

Well, it sounded believable to me. And Mom should be happy…she's always wanted me to fit in and go to parties and stuff. But she just narrowed her eyes, and pointed out one fatal flaw in my story.

"Then why did Jesse have to take you home?" she asked sharply. Jesse'd been working late for the past couple of weeks, as the historical society was working on setting up a new exhibit. She totally knew he would not have gotten off early to go to some stupid high school party with me. Of course, I couldn't tell her that he hadn't been there all along…that I'd called him at around 8:30…because yeah, how do you think she'd react if I told her he'd had to get off early to play knight-in-shining-armor to my damsel-in-distress? If I told her that, she'd want to know the whole story. And that, as I mentioned before, would not be good.

"You weren't at Kelly Prescott's. You were somewhere else, with that boy, weren't you?"

I winced. By the way she said 'that boy', I could totally tell that unless I said exactly the right thing, Jesse was so out of my mom's good graces. And that would definitely not be a good thing.

"No, Mom," I persisted in what I hoped was a convincing manner. "I really was at Kelly's party. Only then someone brought out a keg, and I didn't want to stand around watching everybody get drunk, so I called Jesse and asked him to bring me home."

After looking at me suspiciously for a moment, with me looking back earnestly, my mom relaxed a bit, and I felt like I could breathe again. I was saved. Well, not totally saved. I was still in trouble. But I could totally tell she was going to let me off easy now. So instead of being grounded till I'm 30, and having Jesse banished from the Ackerman-Simon residence for all eternity, I got off with merely getting grounded for a week and a major lecture.

Which was kind of a bummer. Being grounded, I mean. But she didn't revoke my cell phone privileges (thank God, since that's the way us Carmel Mediators keep in touch) or anything, so I wasn't complaining.

"I know, Mom," I said, as she appeared to be winding down. "I'm really sorry. And I totally promise I won't do it again." I hoped that, by crossing my fingers behind my back, I'd cancelled out the heinous crime of lying to my poor mother.

"I just don't know what to do, Susie," she said before she left, giving me this really sad look. "I thought we'd left all this behind us, back in New York. I just don't know what to do," and she left, shaking her head.

Great, Mom. Way to layer on the guilt.

Now that I had my room to myself, I headed to the bathroom and peered into the mirror. Ugh, what a mess! With my hair messed up and bits of sticks and leaves stuck in it, and my face all dirty and big bags under my eyes, I looked like one of those runaways you see in TV shows. You know, the ones who sleep under bridges or in subway tunnels.

Seriously, I don't know how Jesse managed to kiss me goodnight without gagging.

But that, of course, is why I love him. Jesse, unlike most of the guys I know, doesn't care that I'm not Julia Stiles or anything. Jesse thinks I'm beautiful just the way I am, as crazy as that is. In fact, he's often told me this (that I'm beautiful, not that it's crazy), while whispering stuff to me in Spanish. This is very nice, even though half the time I don't have a clue what he's saying, my knowledge of that noble language being restricted to things like hola and que pasa, or querida (which means sweet heart, and which Jesse calls me when he isn't mad at me for doing dangerous stuff without him). And, of course, some of Jesse's favorite phrases…none of which are repeatable, and none of which I know the exact meaning to…but I can totally understand the tone and main gist of them.

These are the words he usually uses in reference to Paul Slater (whom Jesse definitely does not like), and evil ghosts that try to kill me.

Anyway, even though I totally didn't feel like doing anything but jumping into my pajamas and hopping into bed, I knew if I didn't get in the shower tomorrow I was going to look like an extra from Night of the Living Dead.

So I ran a tub full of nice, warm water (I knew I could totally not stand up long enough to take a shower) and soaked for a while. This was a bit painful, you know, when the water hit my rope burns, but a bit refreshing, especially once I'd managed to scrub all the dirt and leaves out of my hair and off of my skin.

Once sufficiently clean, my leave-in conditioner making my hair a little bit slimy, I pulled on my pajamas, slithering under the covers and clapping off the lights before rolling over and slipping off into dreamland. And for once my slumber was completely paranormal-interruption free.

…

The next morning at assembly, my eyelids still felt heavy, as if each of them weighed a ton, and it was quite a battle to keep them open. This did not, however, seem to bother my best friend, CeeCee Webb, editor of the school paper and resident albino. Nope, good old Cee was yakking on about a mile a minute about God only knows what. I was way too tired to pay attention. Besides, even though I'd totally taken Advil that morning, my head was still hurting.

Despite how tired and generally wrecked I felt, I'd still dressed with the same careful taste as always. I stood there, yawning, decked out in a short sleeved, button-down, red blouse and black Banana Republic slacks (conveniently loose, so as not to rub up against my ankles, which also still hurt), thinking about the events of the night before…being tied to a tree, my fight with Jesse, and confronting my mom like that.

God. What a disaster.

Not to mention the reproving looks I'd gotten from Sleepy that morning, who, I could totally tell, was now even more convinced that I was in some kind of gang. Oh yeah, and then there were the "haha, you are so busted" taunts I'd received from Dopey. And Doc's ramblings about the percentage of American youths who sneak out of their parents' house per year, why they sneak out, and the most often used methods of getting out of the house undetected.

Gee. You just have to love stepbrothers.

Anyway, as if my day could not possibly get any worse, when I got to my locker I was cornered by the one and only Paul Slater. And yeah, okay, I know I said he wasn't a creep anymore, but in case you hadn't noticed I was in a totally bad mood.

"Suze," he greeted me casually, leaning up against the locker next to mine and smirking. Paul always smirks.

"Paul," I replied shortly as I opened the locker door.

"You're looking a little hung over today," he commented.

Oh yeah, what a way to flatter a girl.

"What do you say we skip homeroom and grab some coffee?"

"Thanks," I said, shoving my black leather motorcycle jacket into my locker and slamming the door. "But no thanks."

He rolled his blue, blue eyes and fell into step beside me, his long strides easily keeping up with my brisk pace.

"God, Suze," he told me, "Grump much?"

"Paul," I said warningly, "Do not mess with me this morning, okay? I am not in the mood."

"What's the matter?" he wanted to know. "You and Wonder Boy fighting again?"

"I said," I spoke through gritted teeth, "I'm not in the mood. And what happens between Jesse and I? Yeah, so not your business."

"Because you know, Suze," he said, completely ignoring me and reaching out to twirl a piece of my hair around his finger, "If things between you two just aren't working out, I'm always around to…"

Okay, I know he was joking, all right? Well, half-joking anyway. I mean, I have to deal with this guy on a day-to-day basis. I totally knew this was his way of teasing me.

But I'd warned him. I'd warned him and he hadn't paid the slightest bit of attention. So really, what happened next was totally his own fault.

I paused, and so did he, raising his eyebrows at me. A sweet, angelic smile on my face, I stepped closer to him, and he grinned, a little uncertainly, I thought. Then I pulled back my fist and slammed it into his face.

…

Naturally, as always happens when someone is bothering me and I decide to punish them accordingly (i.e. with a fist to their face), Sister Ernestine was conveniently nearby to give me detention as my fist made contact with Paul's nose.

"Holy cow, Simon!" Paul exclaimed, holding onto his injured nose and letting out a stream of words that caused Sister Ernestine, who was striding towards us, glaring reproachfully at me, to pause in her trek and gasp in horror.

"Mr. Slater!" she exclaimed.

But Paul ignored her, just like he'd ignored me, and glared at me, his blue eyes filled with anger and hurt.

Baby.

…

When you attempt to maim and/or disfigure the most attractive guy in school, not only do you get detention, but all your fellow female students will immediately turn against you.

Seriously. One little bruise on Paul Slater's face, and suddenly I'm the Wicked Witch of the West.

"Oh my God!" Debbie Mancuso exclaimed as she and her best friend, Kelly Prescott (class president and total snot…also the girl whose party my mom thinks I was at last night), approached Adam, CeeCee, and I at the end of our last class before lunch. "What the heck were you thinking!"

I arched an eyebrow at them. "Excuse me?"

"You," Kelly jabbed a perfectly manicured nail at me. "Paul says you hit him this morning."

Well I could sort of understand her being mad. Paul was practically her boyfriend.

"Um, yeah," I told her bluntly. "The guy was bugging me. I warned him. He didn't listen."

"You can't go around abusing people just because they annoy you," Kelly continued, tossing her hair in a very cheerleader-esque way, and placing her hand on her hip.

"Yeah," Debbie chimed in. "Especially other people's prom dates."

Kelly nodded. "Exactly. That's like, totally childish."

CeeCee rolled her eyes. "Is that what this is about? God, Kelly, it's just a bruise. I'm sure it'll be gone by May."

"And if not," Adam added lazily, "I'm sure he can afford plastic surgery."

"That's not the point," she jabbed her finger at Cee this time. "And nobody asked you."

"Look," I flung her finger away from my friend's face with a look of disgust. "I said I warned him. And now I'm warning you. So if you want to keep your face intact, I suggest you leave my friends alone and keep your nose out of my business or I'll…"

But no one was to know exactly what I was going to do. I don't even think I really knew. This is because before I could give out my full threat I was cut off by the intercom buzzing across the room….

"Susannah Simon," it said loudly. "Please report to Father Dominic's office."

"See you later, guys," I told CeeCee and Adam, rolling my eyes as I headed for the door. I had a feeling I knew what this was about.

Ugh. This was so not my day.