A/N:

Look! A bird!

Not really, but there is another chapter.

I'm updating.

Love me, hate me…

There's a fine line, people.

And I would like to thank Dawn for the idea that I used in the beginning of this chapter, I really was stuck, but it gave me something to write about.

Much thanks.

And I would also like to thank my reviewers, for doing just that.

Reviewing, I mean.

And I'll stop being all Oscary now.

I mean accepting the award type Oscar, not the bologna type Oscar (Mayer).

Just incase there was any doubt.

Oh, and p.s. I still have no idea where I'm going with this story. Okay, I lie. I know where I want to end up, just not how to get there…

Oh, and ignore the Spanish words that are supposed to have accents, my computer won't let me do that.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. That goes for all the chapters. I am not Meg Cabot, nor do I pretend to be.

Chapter Six

I could not believe what I had just admitted to Susannah.

Granted, she could not understand it.

For that, I was thankful.

Why I did not want her to know my true feelings, I did not know…

Oh, yes. The fact that I was currently (and probably would always be) deceased played a key part in that fact.

So I was, 'in the dumps' as she would say.

I walked silently through the hallway of the mission.

Really, I did.

I noticed for the first time, that my footsteps made no sound.

I know, I know. A hundred and fifty years to contemplate this, and I think of it now.

But I really had just noticed.

It was a depressing thought.

Like that I cast no shadow.

That too, was a depressing thought.

Although, it wasn't like I couldn't make sound.

If I concentrated on it, I could.

But otherwise I was…silent.

I lent against a pillar and stomped my foot hard on the ground. As if to prove this to myself.

"Frustrated are we, De Silva?"

Oh. Dios.

My favorite person.

What was he doing here?

Did he not torture me enough elsewhere?

"Slater."

"Ah," he said, coming toward me, "all the way up to one word answers. Good for you."

It took much of my willpower not to slam my fist into his face. That, I knew, would make a very satisfying crunch.

Even if it would not be me making the sound, but rather causing it…

"Do you need something Paul?"

I realized that that was the first time I'd ever called him by his first name.

It was a strange realization.

"No…well, I don't need something, but I want someone..." A smirk trailed across his face.

For a horrifying moment, I thought he was talking about myself.

That only lasted a second though.

Then I realized he was talking about Susannah.

"Leave her alone Slater."

"Four words. Impressive."

"I wasn't aware that it was my grammar you were concerned about."

He gave me a foul look, "I could care less about you, except that your in my way."

I raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'm on my way to see…a friend," he tried not to laugh, "we have a 'study' session…for English. Apparently, she doesn't understand Shakespeare very well, and wants some help with it…"

I could feel the color drain from my face.

And my willpower drain along with it.

Which was when my fist really did land in the middle of his face.

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"You decked him?"

I had been reading my tombstone, I seem to have a bad habit of that, when Susannah walked up. I stood up off the ground, shaking the fact that I was also under the ground, out of my head.

I furrowed my brow, "decked?"

"Hit."

Oh.

"I didn't hit him that hard."

"He has a black eye Jesse. And he doesn't bruise easily, trust me, I know…" she trailed off and blushed.

"How would you know Querida?"

"What does Tea camo mean?" She blurted out, obviously trying to change the subject.

"Excuse me?"

"Tea camo? What does it mean?"

What in God's name was that girl talking about? Oh…wait.

"Te amo, Susannah."

"Okay, te amo, so what does it mean?"

"Nothing."

"You lie Jesse."

"How do you know Slater doesn't bruise easily?"

"I asked you first."

Suze's POV

Okay, so now I was being a baby.

But whatever.

He really, really didn't need to know how I found that out. That would go over real well.

I could just imagine myself saying it too, "well, you see Jesse, I was making out with him on his bed, and decided that I was in love with you, so I should probably stop. Oh, yah, and Paul Slater's only good quality is that he's a fabulous kisser."

That would go over real well.

"Si, you did."

I smiled, sure that he would just tell me. I mean, how bad could it me? Did it mean, 'you smell bad' or something?

Psh.

It could be worse.

I wouldn't object to it being better, though.

And I really wouldn't appreciate being told that I smell.

Especially by Jesse.

How majorly would that suck?

A lot.

That's how much.

Still, 'you smell like someone farted' would be worse.

Once again 'it could be worse'. You know?

But whatever.

"But," he said, brushing imaginary dirt off his legs, "you get to answer first, as well."

I glared at him.

"I happen to know the answer to both of your questions."

Oh. Not him.

Not now.

Not ever.

But especially not now.

I turned to the sound of his voice from behind me.

"And I'll tell you," he said, looking at me, "if you don't hurt me for telling him."

"I can't promise that Paul."

I noticed the really good sized bruise around his left eye. It was all black and icky looking.

Go Jesse.

"Really?" His icy blue eyes bore into mine, "well, I can't promise it won't accidentally slip…like you did, apparently, with your clip at my hou—," only that was all he got out. Not because Jesse went all WWF on him either.

It was because I did.

I slammed my shoulder into his (very hard) stomach, knocking him to the ground. I hoped I left as nice a bruise as Jesse had.

Only I lacked the ghostly strength he had.

So I doubted there would be a mark.

"Suze…I didn't remember you liking it so rough…"

He picked himself up, rubbing his chest where my shoulder had assaulted it.

I glared at him.

"But maybe it's different with De Silva, eh?"

Don't you have to have a license to be this much of an asshole? Seriously.

"What's your deal Paul?"

"Well, I was just going to tell Jesse exactly why it is you know that I don't bruise so easily."

"Yah," I said with a smirk, not realizing I was going to say what I was going to say, "but to do that you'd have to admit that a girl actually stopped kissing you," it took a minute for what I had just said to hit me.

And then I went, oh. No.

Not good.

Because it really wasn't.

I turned around to see Jesse, who was doing an odd combination of looking shocked at me, and then glaring daggers at Paul, and back again.

"Jesse…I wasn't, we weren't…I, he…I…bed…no…shifting, papers, jumped me…loved…stopped, erghfumple," I finally stopped digging myself a deeper hole, and shut up.

"Yah, well, you see, Susie here is an amazing kisser…though I guess you wouldn't know that, would you? I would, though…"

And then I launched myself at him again.

Wasn't this supposed to be Jesse's job? At least I was wearing jeans.

It must be sacrilegious to kill someone near a church.

Fine.

So I wouldn't kill him…

…Just injure him severely.

Paul shoved me off him, and propped me up on my feet, out of the position I'd been above him, attempting to jab my thumb in his eye socket.

Damn.

I missed.

"Can't we talk this out, like mature adults Susie?"

"We can if you stop calling me Susie."

Which, sadly, I was more upset about than anything, really.

Only my mother could do that.

Call me Susie, I mean.

And even then I didn't like it.

But I wasn't going to shove my thumb in her eye socket. I mean, how wrong would that be?

"Fine. I'm sorry. Suze."

"So let's talk."

"If you want to know, te amo means I love you."

And I froze.

I turned around to Jesse and stared.

All the color drained out of his face, before a nice blush settled in instead. He started stammering all over the place.

Well.

If this wasn't a situation that I never would have fathomed.

Paul Slater, had just told me, that my boyfriend loved me…for him.

Which was, odd.

To say the least.

"Really?"

My voice was barely above a whisper.

There was an odd sensation in my stomach, similar to the butterflies I get when he kisses me. When Jesse kisses me, I mean.

He started to stammer more, then abruptly stopped.

And dematerialized.

A/N:

Poor, poor Jesse.

And Paul too, actually.

He has no idea that he just made Suze a very happy person.

For Jesse, I mean.

Hee hee.

REVIEW.

And I shall update…again.