Page 52 of A Midsummer Night's Ghost

“Who can see us?”

I studiously looked over at the casket and made a point of saying to Grandma, “Is that Mary’s son in from Florida?”

“That’s him. Surprised he came. He thinks he’s a big shot.”

“He’s dressed very casually for a big shot.” Mary’s son, who appeared to be in his sixties, was wearing cargo shorts and a T-shirt. “The Keys?”

“Yes. He looks like he smokes the wacky weed, doesn’t he?”

“That he does.”

“I don’t think she can see us, Dan. She’s not reacting at all.”

“She told me to back off. I’m telling you she can see us.”

“Let’s go pay our respects,” I told Grandma, determined to walk, not run, away from Dan and Tina.

Unfortunately, when I did my casual one footed pivot, I made eye contact with the girl in the prom dress. Her eyes narrowed. “Are you, like, dead too?”

It was easy to ignore rude men in tracksuits, but a teenager? I instantly felt guilty. “No,” I whispered. “But I’m sorry you are.”

I wasn’t sure what else to say to a girl who couldn’t be more than seventeen and who passed away before the return of eyebrows.

“If you’re sorry, you’d help me,” she said, crossing her arms across her dress front. It sagged down in the bodice. She did not have proper support. I felt like her mother had probably told her that and she’d dismissed her mother with a “whatever.”

“I can’t help you,” I murmured. “You have to just let go.” That had worked with Mary, so why not try it here? “Close your eyes and wish yourself out of here.”

“That’s super stupid,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Well, that was charming. Teen attitude even in death. “I get it, but that’s the best I can offer you.”

“Boo. You suck.”

“That seems to be the general consensus.”

“Which one of these stiffs are you talking to?” Grandma asked.

That made the prom queen gasp in disgust and throw her hands up and turned on her heel with an, “Argh!”

“I need to revisit my spiritual education again,” I told my grandmother. “I do not enjoy being trash talked by random dead people.”

“Dying pisses people off. It takes a light hand.”

Said the woman who just referred to them as “stiffs.”

Sara came over to me again. “Is Alyssa here?” she asked.

“No. She didn’t know Mary.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. I’d love to reconnect with her again. She was so brave in high school.”

I assumed by brave she meant that Alyssa hadn’t backed down in the face of frequent body shaming. I couldn’t remember if Sara had participated or stood up for Alyssa. I didn’t think she had done either one. I didn’t even really remember her knowing Alyssa, but then again, I’d been very wrapped up in major concerns over my frizzy hair and my freckles and my lack of male attention. Alyssa and I hadn’t shared a lot of classes either.Maybe Sara was just feeling reflective and felt bad about how Alyssa had been treated.

“I’ll tell Alyssa you said hi.”

“Please do.”

“Sara!” Anne barked.

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