Thank you again for, first of all, having bothered to review at all, and, second of all, to give me such great reviews. I have done as you requested. Well, as some of you requested. Well…you'll just have to read it to find out whose requests came true. Have fun reading.

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I decide to take Dana out. She refuses. Says she has to study. I argue. She wins. I'm pissed. Great. So, guess what I do to waste time? I begin reading my sociology book. And…guess until what page I read up to? Oh, like, one hundred and fifty, you know, no biggie. Some very heavy stuff, that is. I think I might have a brain tumor, because I would never read school-related books for fun---not that I was having fun---or, books in general, really, if I didn't. Have a brain tumor, I mean. I should go to the doctor, you know, get a check-up, make sure I'm not dying. Maybe the dorm's making me all stupid and claustrophobic-like. It seems to have gotten smaller in the last few minutes and is now enthusiastically cutting off my circulation.

I look at Dana. She's reading. I watch her for a bit. I decide that I can't stand it anymore and leave. I go down the hall, down the stairs and out the door. OK. I look around. Strange place. Strange people. The sky is inky black. Visibility: zero. I head back. I'm such a failure. I continue reading.

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I get up for class and, this time, it is early. It's at nine. Psychology. I shove my butt out of bed, get dressed, brush teeth, all the usual routine, and make sure to get out a few minutes earlier so I could have time to find the class.

Ms. Paler teaches this one. She's relatively short, with a neatly rounded face, blonde hair and big blue eyes. The guys all instantly like her, and not because she's a good teacher either. Not that she's bad, but you get my drift.

"Ok, everybody, would you please take out your books? We will begin shortly," Ms. Palor announces. All the guys promptly follow instructions, military style. The ones with the girlfriends earn themselves very sharp stares.

Ms. Palor doesn't seem to notice all the extra attention she's receiving, must happen all the time. So, ignorant to the worshiping stares of the guys and the vengeful glaring of the girls, she finally begins class.

"As you already know, the mind is a very complex machine that works in very peculiar ways. Even now, we have not deciphered much about how it behaves. What we will be learning in this course are theories, developed by well-known scientists…"Ms. Palor drifts off, the guys listening attentively.

An hour and a half later, I head back to my dorm to find Dana sitting on the couch, obviously working on something school-related. I begin doing my psychology assignment.

Frankly, I don't remember a time when I promptly sat down to complete homework. This is a first. Danaism is rubbing off on me.

Psychology is my only class for the day, nice, eh? After a while I decide to go hang out at the library. And, wait till you hear this, the library is like, oh, four, maybe five times bigger than my old high school. Yeah, and it has these really soft cushions, a bunch of computers, and a million books about any topic that ever existed, exists, and will exist in the near future. And, oh yeah, it also has music and movies. The library is pretty much a bigger, and somewhat better, version of my house. I say somewhat better due to the fact that, like at home, it's also filled with many boys. Except in here, the number is quadrupled twenty times. If that makes any sense.

Anyway, I take a seat, put the headphones on---the C.D. is tuned to the song: "I'm only happy when it rains"---close my eyes, lay my head back on the couch, and just relax. This is more like it. But, heaven doesn't last. Since this is a school and there are students, something exciting is bound to happen. And it did.

"I can't believe you slept with her," some guy yells. I look up, taking the headphones off. "You knew I was with her, man," he continues, the yelling becomes shouting.

"I swear I had no idea," some other guy, his friend undoubtedly, replies just as loudly. The librarian hops over to say---say is an understatement, in truth, she had to practically break her precious little librarian voice box in order to get them to hear her---that they must lower their voices since they "are in a library". They don't pay her any attention. The shouting continues. I leave.

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Dana and me decide to go to a coffee pub. It's a really hip one where all the students hang out. It has the really low lights, the ones that go right up to the table, and red curtains drawn up over the windows so that you can't really tell that there's light outside. We order coffee. I think about how great it would be if I could go back to high school, back to when classrooms where smaller and people were nicer, when Dana interrupts my thoughts with:

"So, how are you enjoying classes so far?"

"Oh, they're ok," I say, but then I remember sociology. "Well, maybe not."

"Oh, that's too bad. Mine are superb. Especially Biology, it's incredibly interesting, all this stuff about how cells communicate with each other and…"she continues saying excitedly. I well in self-pity. Everything seems to be going so great for Dana, why does my life have to suck so much? After we finish our coffee we head back to prison, a.k.a. our dorm.

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I wake up, slowly open my eyes and let them adjust to the morning light bursting in through the open window. I automatically remember that I have sociology again at two, which is definitely the class I'm totally looking forward to. Not. I look over at the clock sitting comfortably on the desk next to my bed. It's six thirty in the morning. I remember hearing something. Yes, something woke me up. Looking around the room you wouldn't see anything at all suspicious; especially not the source of what woke me. Well, of course you wouldn't, you're not the one who can hear and see ghosts. She was perched precariously on the edge of my blanket. I fell off my bed when I saw her, but, luckily I landed on my butt instead of my head, although I don't know which is more valuable.

"What are you doing here?" I ask---more like quietly yell---her. "How long have you been watching me for?" I continue whisper yelling, slowly getting up off the floor and rubbing my bruised butt. Then I get back into bed and pull the blanket back over me. It's cold in here. She floats up while I adjust my blanket, and then sits back down again as if we're best friends having a sleepover party.

"Oh, not long," Gabrielle replies arrogantly. "I thought you said you were going to help me," she declares, completely unaware that she just woke me up from a very pleasant dream. This gets me real mad since I don't usually dream, because, well, I don't usually sleep, and that's because ghosts like Gabrielle, who supposedly need my help, keep disturbing me in the middle of the night. No, they can't come in the afternoon, that would be too inconvenient, they have to come at a time when I'm sleeping or a few hours before I wake up so that I can't get back to sleep. Perhaps they find it amusing. Bet it cheers them right up.

"Yeah, I might have said that," I reply, really aggravated. I remember my dream involved a really big closet, full of designer clothes. I was wearing a really nice Gucci dress and holding a very classy-looking Louis Vuitton bag in my hand. I wonder where I was going.

When she doesn't say anything I continue, exasperatedly voicing what is probably on her mind, "you want me to find Josh, make him pay and all that, right?" I ask, looking up at her slowly. She nods silently, her hair falling into her eyes, but she doesn't seem to mind.

"I'll see what I can do," I say, hoping it would cheer her up enough so that she'll leave me alone and I could get back to Gucci and closet. But, hope is sparse, and it swiftly disbands in the wind and flies out the window, since it didn't look like Gabrielle was going to budge. She edges closer to me, now sitting squarely on my legs, and, let me tell you, she's no feather---even though technically she is a ghost and should theoretically have no mass---not that she's overweight, but I'm no Arnold schwarzenegger either.

"Please, you have to help me," she begs, her eyes pleading. My legs go numb.

"I told you already that I'll do what I can, this sort of thing takes time," I say impatiently. "I can't just tell the police what you told me, I don't think they'd really go for the whole the-ghost-of-the-girl-Josh-killed-told-me." I explain rather hurriedly.

"Ok, I understand" she answers, giving me a rather miserable look. A second later she disappears. I sit there, staring at empty space, while guilt slowly settles in. I ignore it.

Great, well now I can forget about making friends, forget about having a life, it's all gone. I'm obliged to help her, and she'll surely bother me if I don't. In any case this is my job, and a lousy one at that, let me tell you. It comes full with being kicked—especially on the head---and having to kick in return. It's a wonder I can still walk straight and be able to feed myself considering all the times I wound up in the hospital.

I let my head drop back on my pillow and look over at the clock again. It's seven. I reluctantly get up from bed and tip toe over to the computer---the one I had shipped over from home---careful not to wake Dana up. I have gotten quite handy with it, I must admit, having been half taught by my friend Cee Cee back in California and half by some computer geek I met a year before coming here. So, you could say that by now I was quite a pro. I know how to hack into someone's computer and skillfully set up a database showing the entire internal structure of any building I chose to explore, you know, things like that. And, turns out that this was exactly what I needed to be able to successfully pull off---meaning no police involvement---any stunt I chose to pull off, and this didn't necessarily have to involve any ghostly beings. What I mean is, well, let's say I didn't have time to study for an exam that was coming up, then I'd be able to, oh, find out the password used to turn off the school alarm, which was set up a year ago, by the way, and find the office the exams were kept in, and so on. Hey, don't give me that look. I had no choice, plus I was also forced to stay up half the night helping the ghost of some girl find her necklace so she could give it back to her parents.

So, I get down to work. I look up recent articles reporting Gabrielle's murder, and yes, police suspect that she was killed, but they don't have any suspects yet. Josh must be real good at what he does, killing people, that is, since no evidence was found at the crime scene. The funny thing is that all the articles say that Gabrielle had been shot, but if I recall correctly, Gabrielle's statement to me included Josh yielding a knife. She never mentioned a gun. That's a bit peculiar, but I'll look into it later.

In half an hour, I figure out pretty much all I can about this Josh, like, where he lives, his home phone, what school he attends, what classes, you know, that sort of stuff.

I get my cell phone out, go out into the hall, dial Josh's number---#69 in front---and, adopting an English accent, I say: "Hi, may I speak with Josh, please?"

The lady who answers the phone tells me that he's not home now andasks me who I am. I say that I'm Josh's Biology professor.Hey it makes sense, he isin third year.The professor, the oneI was pretending to be,should be very well acquainted with him by now, though I don't know ifshe'd call him, but hey, what can I do? I tell her that Josh has been selected as one of the few students to go on an island expedition in order to explore and record the characteristics of many different species, Darwin style. Hey, it could happen, since I also happen to know that Josh is doing incredibly well in Biology, so his mother or whomever I was talking to shouldn't be too suspicious.

Since Josh wasn't home yet, I got her to tell me his schedule, so that "I'd be able to find him and inform him of all the details." This sort of thing must happen all the time, the thing where the-professor-calls-home-and-asks-for-Josh's-schedule-in-order-to-find-him-and-discuss-something-with-him, since she didn't even think to tell me that Josh could just as easily have come to my office. Good thing she didn't because technically I don't have one. An office, I mean. Since I'm not even really his Biology Professor.Whenthe ladyfinishes telling me Josh's schedule I thank her and we part.

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"Was there anything peculiar about his appearance, something that could help me identify him?" I ask Gabrielle. We are in my dorm. Dana left a while ago. Gabrielle's a real pain but I had to call her back, I mean, I wasn't really going to get anywhere not knowing how Josh looks like, now would I? So far I've established that he has straight, shoulder length brown hair, dark eyes, a coarsely squared jaw, and a miniature bump on his medium-sized nose. She also said that he was tall, about 6'2, with big hands.

"Well, he had a bruise at the corner of his left eye and a deep cut near his lip," Gabrielle replied. That's odd. Though it could just be nothing.

I look up at her from my notepad. Yes, I was writing all this down. "How do you think he might've gotten them?" I inquire.

"I don't know, I though it looked kind of hot, but then…" Gabrielle trailed off. I interrupt her with an impatient: "Well, did you at least ask him about it?"

"He said something about a hospital, I don't know, I wasn't really paying atten---"

"Ok, what about his behavior, did he seem nervous at all, upset, anything?" I go on.

"I…. I…don't remember…I…" she falters. "Why are you asking me all this?" she says, getting frustrated.

"Well, I want to be able to identify him. I presume you want him caught, no?" I ask her, getting fed up.

"Of… of course," she replies hastily, looking taken aback, then lowers her head glumly.

"Don't worry," I say after a few seconds, "I won't let him get away with it." She looks up at me, smiling. A few seconds later she dematerializes.

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I really hate this place, creeps me out, especially since a lot of ghosts tend to hang out here. It also always smells like someone had used way too much cleaning supplies. I look up at the clock. It's twelve. I have to get back before class.

You may have not guessed it, but I'm in a hospital. I'm here to find some files on Josh. No, not legally if you're wondering. Remember how Gabrielle babbled on about some hospital he went to the day of the party? Well, I'm here to find out why. And to find out how he got those bruises, if I can, that is.

I go up to the counter. A woman clad with hospital robes and dressed with curly brown hair reclines comfortably in a black chair.

"Hi, how may I help you?" She asks, smiling.

"I really don't feel well," I reply, clutching my forehead while scrunching my face to get that I'm-in-a-lot-of-pain look, while leaning a little bit on the counter. "I think I'm going to be sick," I continue. I thank all the hospital shows I used to watch when I was really bored. It really paid off.

I look at her desk. There is a card lying there. Oh, it's not just an ordinary card. It's used to open up all the doors in this hospital, including the door to the office where all the patients' files are stashed. I need to get that card.

"Would you like to use the washroom?" she asks me. I think about it. Then I nod.

I ask her if she could show me where it is. Smiling, she gets up from her desk, and then heads off in the direction of where the washroom must be. She left her card on her desk. This just gets easier and easier, doesn't it? I snatch it and follow her. After I use the washroom---looking to see how my hair is doing, if my makeup is still on---I go back to the counter.

"Um, if you could just give me your card, I'll need to fill out some things. Then you can just take a seat over there," the woman says, pointing behind me, "and I'll call you when a doctor's available, all right?" she asks sweetly. I look behind me. A whole bunch of people are already sitting there, including one who's holding their bleeding nose with half a wad of toilet paper, and one who's lying semi-conscious on the seats, taking up half a row. Damn, I don't have time for this.

"Miss, um, I really don't feel well, would I be able to have a doctor look at me right away?" I ask hopefully. Well, I couldn't very well just sneak in. I happen to know that there are a bunch of hidden cameras at the doors that lead to the hospital wards, and, of course, the office I must get to. Also, at the moment, there were a bunch of patrol officers stacked near those same doors.

"I'm real sorry, but I can't do that," she replies. I hand her my card.

It's time to take drastic measures. I lean over until my head almost touches the floor. I then grasp her desk and pretend like I'm having trouble getting back up. Then, I use the biggest trick in the book: I faint.

I swear to god that I've never seen doctors run so fast, even though I lived in New York for most of my life. When they got me onto a stretcher, they hurried me into a ward, put me on a hospital bed, and did all the usual things doctors do in a hospital, like, check if my heart's still beating and whether I have a fever and such. Finally, when they found that nothing was wrong with me, they diagnosed me with exhaustion and decided to just let me rest. I open one eye, then the other. They were gone. Brilliant.

I get up out of bed, sneak to the door, look left, then right. Clear. I try to remember which way the office is. I head to the right, then turn left, and then turn right again. I see it. It's straight ahead. When the coast is clear, I sneak up to the door and take out the card, but before I have a chance to swipe it, someone yells:

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?"

Shit. I turn around carefully, slowly putting the card back in my pocket. I look down at my feet. Just pretend you're invisible, I tell myself, try to blend in with wall. Maybe he won't see you. Nope, he walks right towards me. Don't lift up your head, I say to myself. I decide to stare at his feet. He has nice shoes.

"Did you hear me miss? I asked you a question," he persists, now standing right in front of me.

He lifts up my protesting chin using his index finger until my eyes meet his. Can he do that?

I notice that he is about my age, but older. What is he doing here? He couldn't possibly be working as a doctor at his age, though he was certainly good at pretending.

"I…uh…I got lost, I was...looking for the exit," I reply, flustered.

"I see," he says, looking amused. Was he mocking me?

He was a lot taller than I was, so I had to crane my neck to see his eyes, which, by the way, were inky black. I saw also that his face was framed by a collection of straight black hair that went all the way down to his neck. Hey, since I was already forced to look up at his face I couldn't help but notice these things.

"It's right over there," he says, pointing to a door ten meters to my right, which holds a sign that reads, in massive red letters, exit.

"Oh…thanks," I say, horrified, "I think I can find my way now," I say, hoping he'll leave me alone, but, no, he offers to see me out, so that I, as he jokingly says, "don't get lost again." He walks me to the door and, once I was outside, shut it in my face.

Damn. Double damn. After all I have done, all my hard work and dazzling acting skills. All wasted. I mean, how many times can they fall for the same trick?

I was so close, so damn close. He is so going to pay for that, him and his sickly smile.