"Yeah," I agreed. "Could you imagine if you died wearing some outfit that you hated? And then you were stuck in it forever?"

"You mean like a Blessed Yvette High School uniform?" The two of us laughed aloud. "Yuck!"

"Did you say your name is Marcie?" she was asking me, as I floated up from sleep.

"Yeah," I replied as I rubbed my eyes and let out a huge yawn. "Misty?" I asked. And it was her.

She didn't look like a ghost. She just looked like a girl, any girl, a little older than me, about Cassie's age. I couldn't see through her, and she wasn't floating in the air. She sat on the edge of my bed, with one leg tucked under her and the other leg dangling. She sounded friendly and curious, as if there was nothing strange about who we were or how we were meeting. It was like we were two new girls on the first day of school.

Misty was dressed in workout clothes: spandex shorts, a sports bra, tank top, and loose t-shirt. Her hair was pulled back with a pink scrunchie and her feet were bare. It was a seriously outdated look.

She saw the way I looked her over and explained, "This is what I was wearing when I died."

"Oh," I said. "So you know you're... uh–"

"Dead? Yeah, I know. At first it was horrible, and then it was creepy. And then for a long time I was scared to death, but then it got so boring! " She scratched her head and then tossed her ponytail. "After a while I got used to it... There wasn't anything else to do. You know, most people can't see me. I wonder why that is? I used to look out the window a lot, but not many people looked back, the way you did. That other girl can't see me at all."

She poured so many words into what she said, it was a bit hard to follow. Maybe, being dead, she didn't need to catch her breath?

In any case, my brain caught up a few moments after she finished, and I thought ''the other girl?''

"Do you mean Maisie?" I asked.

"I guess," she said. "Blonde hair, skinny like a skeleton, smokes?"

"That's her," I said. Did that mean that Maisie smoked here?

"She scares me," Misty confided.

I laughed. "She's alright. Hey, can we go into that little room over there? I don't want to wake up my parents."

"Sure," she said. "I think your mother can hear me. She is your mother — you said she's your mother, right?"

"Yes," I said. "And I'm sure she can hear me."

Maybe once Misty got used to talking to someone, she'd slow down. I hoped so, anyway.

As we stood up and crossed the room, I softly asked her, "Does it bother you that we moved in here?"

"No!" she said. "I'm so glad! I was alone in here for years and years! I had NOBODY to talk to!" She was looking at me over her shoulder as she talked. My mouth opened and my hand went up — I had to warn her: she was about to walk into the door!

And then she did. Walked right into the door, through the door, ghosting her way into the dressing room. It was a little bit of shock. I mean, you see it in movies and on TV all the time, but when it happens in real life, it's a whole 'nother thing.

I, on the other hand, opened the door, walked in, and closed the door behind me.

Once we were both safely inside, we sat on the floor and started talking.

"And the two of you just talked — chatted? Just like that?" Susan asked me.

"Yeah," I replied, stifling a yawn. "Sorry, but we talked for a long time. It was exhausting. She talks nonstop, all kinds of stuff all mashed together..."

Susan grinned. "I guess she doesn't need to stop and catch her breath, does she?"

"That's what I said!" I agreed. "Plus, she hasn't been able to talk to anybody for years, which must be tough."

"So you're getting the brunt of all her pent-up... words... or whatever."

"Yeah. It's like the dam broke. I'm hoping that once she's used to me, she'll slow down and talk about one thing at a time."

I picked at my lunch. I was so tired that I had no appetite.

But then I remembered something. "Oh, Suze! You know what? She didn't kill herself! She didn't take an overdose or anything. She said she never even took that many diet pills. It turned out to be a bad reaction... or a side effect. Maybe she was sensitive to them, or allergic or something."

"So it wasn't Mrs. Wix's fault," Susan put in.

"Misty said it wasn't," I told her. "And I believe her. That letter implied that Mrs. Wix got Misty obsessed with her weight, but I don't believe it. Misty seemed pretty normal to me."

"For a girl who's been dead for 13 years!" Susan quipped.

"Well, she doesn't seem like the type who'd kill herself," I offered.

Susan smiled.

"I know, I know," I said. "She's already dead, so even if she was the type, she can't... but if you met her, I think you'd feel the same."

"I hope I *do* get to see her! Oh! Oh! I forgot to tell you!" Suze was actually jumping in her seat. "I can come! My parents are going to let me come for a sleepover! But it can't be this weekend. Is the weekend after, okay? Like, Friday night?"

I pretended to think for a minute. This was going to work out great! But I had to level with Suze, because she was going to find out anyway. "Actually, it works out a lot better. My mother wants Maisie to come over next weekend to finish the work around the house."

"Oh," Susan said, a little disappointed.

"I'm really glad you can come," I told her, and she brightened again. "I hope you get to see her, too."

I pulled out my agenda and took a quick look at the calendar. "That's going to be the Friday before Christmas! Wow, it really snuck up on me this year!" Christmas would be on a Monday. I didn't think my family would mind if Suze came over on the Friday night before.

"Oh, but...," I began, "Did your parents realize that next weekend is just before Christmas?"

She shrugged. "No. They wouldn't notice. They're pretty traditional Chinese, and we're not Christians, so we don't celebrate Christmas."

I nodded. A wave of tiredness washed over me.

"Whoa, you looked like you were going to nod out there!" Susan commented. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yes," I said, "if Misty lets me get a little sleep tonight."

"So what else did she say? Did you ask her about Ms. Overmore?"

"No, I forgot. I asked her stuff about being a ghost."

"Like what?"

"I asked her whether she could change her clothes. You know? Because she was wearing these goofy workout clothes when she died. She said that she could take them off, but there isn't any way she can get anything else to wear. And she said that a couple of times she threw away her t-shirt, the one she wears on top, just to see what would happen, but when she wasn't paying attention it came back. She was wearing it again."

"Hmmph," Susan commented. "That kinda sucks."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Could you imagine if you died wearing some outfit that you hated? And then you were stuck in it forever?"

"You mean like a Blessed Yvette High School uniform?" The two of us laughed aloud. "Yuck!"

"Oh!" Suze snickered. "What if you were wearing some hideous clunky shoes? Like clown shoes? And you just put them on for a JOKE... and then you died..." she burst into giggles.

In a mock serious voice I said, "I wouldn't be caught dead wearing those shoes!"

"But you would be, because you would be–" she couldn't finish for laughing.

"Oh, and I asked her — I asked Misty — if she was stuck in the house... if she had to stay there forever."

"Is she?"

"No. Well, kinda. She can go places, but she doesn't want to. Anyway, she keeps popping back. She'll go somewhere, but then suddenly she's back home."

"Sounds like some dreams I've had..." Susan mused.

"And I asked if she ever visited Mrs. Wix..."

"Did she?"

"Yes," I said, dropping into a quieter voice. "But when Mrs. Wix got older she didn't like looking at her. And she said it was hard to talk to her."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know," I replied. "But I gather that Misty used to go around to places a lot more, like here at school and around town, but when things and people changed, it wasn't as interesting... or it was depressing... or something. Besides, she couldn't talk with anybody."

"Except you, now."

"Yeah, I guess." I remembered my food, and started nibbling on my sandwich.

"Oh, Marcie," Susan sighed. "These things could only happen to you."

She looked at me as she sipped her iced tea, and then asked, "Are you going to tell Maisie?"

I let out of huff of air. "I don't know. I don't think so... For some reason I don't want to. Not yet, anyway. I think she'd laugh and wouldn't believe me anyway."

Even more than that, I felt convinced that Maisie would be unpleasant to Misty. I can't imagine how she could, or what she would do, but I had that feeling... "It just doesn't seem like a good idea."

Susan smiled a little at that; she liked being my sole confidant.

I added, "It's too bad in a way, because Misty likes the way they fixed up my room."

Speak of the devil! Maisie came trotting up to our table as I spoke, and she caught the tail end of my sentence.

"Yeah, we did a good job on your room, Princess. Me and your Mom." She chewed some food with her mouth open, grinning.

"Oh, gross, Maisie!" I said. "Chew with your mom closed!"

"My mom?" Maisie repeated with a smirk. She indulged in some more open-mouthed chewing, just to bug me. Then, she connected. "Oh, I get it!" she said. "Very interesting, Miss Donner. You don't like the fact that I'm spending time with your mother, and that I get along with her better than you do."

"What!?" I said. "That SO not true!"

"It was a Freudian slip, Marce," she said, still chewing with her mouth open. "You said mom instead of mother — I mean, mouth — because it bothers you."

I gave a snort of disgust.

Sister Honoraria suddenly appeared out of nowhere. "Margaret, young ladies do not chew with a slack jaw, nor do they talk with their mouths full of food," she admonished.

Maisie's mouth snapped snut.

"No, sister," she replied in a muffled voice. "Sorry, sister."

The nun sniffed and walked off. I smiled a superior smile, and Maisie made a defiant face at me, wagging her head as she mouthed a silent nyah, nyah, nyah, still displaying her half-chewed food.

"Oh, jeez," I said, and tossed an empty paper cup at her head, but in a half-affectionate way.

Maisie didn't move, and the cup made a satisfyingly hollow boink! as it bounced off her forehead.

© 2007 Kaleigh Way