Chapter Seven

Jesse and I sat down in a booth. A middle-aged, but friendly, waitress came over and took our orders. She smiled cheerfully - well, most waitresses and receptionists do when the get a really good look at Jesse - and took our menus away.

"What are we going to do about…?" I said, subtly nodding my head in the direction of the group of mischievous ghosts, who were currently stealing bread from baskets and bending forks and spoons for no particular reason, except to be a pain in the butt to the people who were trying to enjoy their evening meals at the In-N-Out Burger. At least they couldn't see what was behind the nuisance. I could, and I knew that when they realized that Jesse and I could see them, they would come over and pester us.

"Right now," Jesse said, knowing what I meant, "we are going to eat. We will deal with the issue at hand later on."

I sighed. Really, why did we have to have so many ectoplasmic disturbances in one day? Couldn't a girl and her boyfriend have a nice time together for once, without disturbances of the ectoplasmic variety? Or any disturbances, for that matter? I tried not to voice those sentiments to Jesse, what with him having been a ghost before and all. He always disagreed with me about the "disturbances" because he was convinced that we had to drop whatever we were doing (whether it be eating, sleeping, writing a report on the human body's immune system, or making out) and help the poor lost souls make it to their respectful destinations. I don't know if he really noticed that the ghosts we mediated together - along with school and his job - took time away from "us."

Oh man, did I ever notice, though.

"What is the matter, Susannah?" Jesse asked, noticing my heavy sigh.

"Nothing , really. I'm just tired," I said quickly. Too quickly, I realized. He probably didn't think I was telling the truth. The truth is, Jesse, I thought, I'm tired of ghosts. I just want to make out with you, Jesse. Or at least talk to you…I haven't really been able to really talk to you in a while. We seem to hardly have time for each other now because we're both so busy. In a way, I still wish you were dead and had nothing to do, because then we'd get to see each other, but I'm really glad that you're alive - more than glad, really, but I don't know how to put it - because we have a future together. Only how could I tell him that?

He eyed me warily. "Are you sure? I could swear that you're feeling sad…" he said.

"No, I'm just tired, really, Jesse," I said.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but, luckily, our food arrived.

The waitress smiled at us in a sickening way. "Can I get you kids anything?" she asked.

"We're fine, thank you," Jesse said.

"Yes," I agreed. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said with another smile, and then she turned around to console a poor woman whose hot tea mug had been deliberately dumped on her by the ghost of a guy who looked to be about fourteen years-old.

"Um, Jesse, I think we need to get to work," I said after the woman started hyperventilating. The manager came over and made her breathe through a paper bag, asking her husband if he'd like for the manager to call an ambulance.

"I agree," he said.

"Well, we can't exactly walk up to them and tell them to cut it out, though," I said.

"Yes, I know. We'll have to talk to them somewhere else, somewhere more private. We should try and get their attention, though, so they will know that we'll help them."

Jesse whistled slightly, but that didn't work. They just kept right on playing with other people's food and drinks. A very young-looking girl was just then taping down a soda-fountain dispenser so that it would pour Diet Pepsi down the drain.

"Let me try," I said.

I tried to get the ghosts' attention by making eye-contact with the Spilled Tea Mug boy. When that didn't work, I tried making eye-contact with a girl who looked to be about sixteen or so. She noticed. Her eyes met mine, and I felt a stab of sadness. She'd been the only one not to get involved with the havoc her friends were reaping onto the restaurant.

She nodded at Jesse and me, and then she said to her friends, as one of the boys was spraying Cool Whip into the air at one of the other kids, "Guys, that's enough. I've found help." The boy continued to spray the Cool Whip. "Josh…" her voice broke. She was crying. "Stop…it…we shouldn't behave like this…it's not good…not nice at all…" She sniffled. "They're over here," she said, pointing at us. "They'll help us later…?"

I nodded. She gave me a watery smile. "Thanks," she said. "We'll follow you out of the restaurant, okay?"

"She looks so sad. I wonder what their problem is," I said to Jesse.

"Are you actually interested in a ghost's problem?" he asked.

"Hey! That's not fair," I said, fake-punching him on the arm, laughing.

"No one ever said life was fair, Susannah." He grinned.

He took hold of my hand and gave it a slight squeeze. A very pleasant tingly feeling worked its way up and down my spine and through the hand he was holding. "I love you, Susannah," he said.

I smiled, beaming with happiness. It was the first time he'd ever said it where anyone else might have heard him. It was also the first time he'd overcome his disdain for PDA and held my hand in public. "I love you, too."