Description: CHAPTER 1 ANNA Annabel Craven stared down at the lifeless body of a girl in her late teens. Her body was still limp and warm, so she hadn''t been dead for long. She lay facedown, her neck bent at an awful angle. Her long red hair was clumped to one side. Anna looked up at the balcony the girl had fallen from. Third story, second window from the left. She knew this because the dead girl was ranting about it. Well, in her spirit form. Anna stayed hidden in the shadows, gritting her teeth. It was just her luck that after all these months without any ghostly contact, she just happened to stumble upon this while walking home. "So much for my almost normal life," Anna mumbled. She knew she had to help this girl. Whether she liked it or not, she was someone who helped bridge the gap between the living and the dead. Timing was everything, so Anna waited in the shadows while watching the dramatics of the dead girl play out in front of her like a horrible high school production that wasn''t worth the five-dollar ticket. A spirit floated next to the body. "I was just standing on that balcony, for crying out loud!" The dead girl''s spirit threw her arms in the air. "One minute I''m there, and the next, I''m ... here!" she screeched, staring down at her own body lying inches in front of her. "Look at me! Who did this? Who would''ve pushed me, Harper Sweety, off that balcony?" the girl wailed. She looked down once more at her body. "Why won''t you get up?" she whispered. Even as a ghost, Harper had style: Her hair flowed symmetrically, spilling red waves over her slim shoulders. She wore a chic black belted dress, cropped jacket, and open-toed gold high heels, looking as if she''d just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. Her lips glowed with glossy pink lipstick, and a luminous glitter trail ran across her dusky eyelids. Harper had no idea what was happening to her. But Anna knew she couldn''t just march right up to her and tell her she was dead. No. Harper had to come to terms with this herself. And then Anna could gently guide--or shove--her in the right direction, depending on how stubborn she was. In fact, she''d started referring to herself as a "Guided." Going through such a traumatic life-and-death situation could easily cause someone to do silly, if not ridiculous, things. Anna clamped a hand over her mouth as Harper brushed the pavement with the palms of her hands, sweeping away loose rocks. Then the ghost got down on all fours and lay down on her body. Harper lay motionless. Her eyes were tightly closed in concentration. Anna let out a long sigh, her stomach growling. She pulled out her new phone to text her mom. Sorry, late for dinner. Lost track of time studying. Be home soon. She hated lying to her mom, but what was she supposed to say? Sorry, Mom, late for dinner, this ghost is having body issues? Harper''s sobs snapped Anna out of her thoughts. There were no tears. Anna had learned ghosts couldn''t actually cry, although they could go through the motions. Harper reached into her left coat pocket and plucked out her phone. The rhinestone-encrusted case glimmered in the twilight. She angrily punched the buttons as she cried. Anna''s own phone vibrated in her hand. She glanced at the screen. One missed call from a blocked number. Anna shuddered. The last time a blocked number had contacted her, it had been from the dead blowing up her phone. And that hadn''t ended well. But that was forever ago. And that was on her old phone. The one she''d buried in the cemetery. "Okay, let''s do this," Anna whispered to herself. She had only taken a few steps before Harper gasped. "I''m alive!" Harper jumped up and down excitedly as her vacant body started twitching. Anna hated this part. Well, she hated many parts, but this was in the top three. She had to gently break the painfully bad news to Harper that she was not waking up. She was dead. And the twitching was rigor mortis setting in. As Anna skulked over, her sneaker hit a rock and sent it bouncing across the pavement, causing Harper to spin around. Her hazel eyes were lit with hope as they connected with Anna''s dim brown ones. Harper raked her hands down her dress, smoothing out the wrinkles. "Did you see? Did you?" Harper pointed at her body, speaking excitedly. Anna definitely wasn''t expecting that reaction. She was expecting something more along the lines of "Who are you?" or "What happened?" "Well, did you?" Harper asked, looking at her im-patiently. Anna had to choose her words carefully now. She had to let Harper down gently. Nothing was worse than traumatizing a ghost right after death. It would be near impossible to help her cross over if that happened. "You''re dead," Anna blurted out before she could stop herself. "For good. As in not coming back, can''t reanimate yourself, you''re a goner." She said it without expression, in a monotone. It was important not to get emotionally involved in these highly sensitive situations. Anna had learned that the hard way too, not so long ago, when she''d had to deal with her first ghost ever. Lucy had been a ghost in denial (and in love), and only cold hard facts--and a glass coffee table--could help her see the truth. Anna hoped this worked for all ghosts. Harper stared wide-eyed at her, speechless. It was a good look for her, Anna thought. But like all good things, it came to an end. "Oh God. Please do not tell me you''re my guardian angel." Harper placed her right hand on her hip, looking Anna up and down. "You have horrible fashion sense." Anna sighed. This girl was worse than a drama queen. Much, much worse. She was a dead diva. And she smelled like wet socks. Anna had no choice but to deal with her. CHAPTER 2 ANNA Harper let out an exasperated breath, blowing a tendril of hair off her forehead. "Some guardian angel you are! Aren''t you supposed to actually save me or something? What were you thinking? Well, apparently you weren''t, because I ended up like this." "Calm down. I''m not an angel," Anna said. "You can say that again." Harper sat down on her body. "Standing is tiring. Especially in these shoes. And I will not get dirt or blood on my dress." "Clothes should be the least of your worries." Anna couldn''t keep the sarcasm from her voice. "And by the way, you''re not standing. You''re hovering." "So what am I now exactly--a spirit?" Before Anna could answer, Harper patted her dead head. "It was a good body. But if I had known I would only live to be sixteen, I would''ve eaten more cream puffs. Well, at least I''ll look fabulous in my funeral clothes. I hope they fix my neck so my head will be facing the right way." Harper widened her eyes as a sudden thought occurred to her. "My funeral! There is so much planning to do. I have to make sure the right flowers are ordered--lilacs, of course." She tapped her finger on her lips, thinking. "Or maybe white roses. I''ve always loved white roses. And the guest list. This will take forever. ..." "You''re not exactly planning a party here, so I''m pretty sure you don''t need to stress about the details," Anna said. She forced a smile. "How are you feeling?" "What are you, my therapist?" "Do you feel detached or connected to your body? Do you feel weighed down? It makes a difference." "Seriously? I don''t know. I feel weightless, I guess. Like I''m not really here." Harper shrugged. "Whatever. Really, though, I''m just bored out of my mind." Dead and bored? That was a definite letdown. And apparently all it took was the thought of a party--even if it was a funeral--for Harper to accept the truth. A streetlamp flickered nearby. It was just after nightfall now, and from the shadows, a homeless man stumbled up to the lamppost and picked up a can, crushing it in his hands before stuffing it in his already overfilled trash bag. The wheels of his cart squeaked as he continued down the road. He never noticed Harper''s body. "Are you kidding me?" Harper shrieked. "He finds a can. Not my body, but a freakin'' can!" Harper was still seething when suddenly a woman''s scream echoed down the street. Several dogs began barking in the distance. Anna ran back into the shadows, hiding behind a large oak. There was no way she wanted to be implicated in a death. That went way beyond the call of duty. Harper suddenly stood as the woman ran up to the body and clapped her hand to her mouth. She inched closer to inspect the body. The woman glanced around, then whipped out a compact from her worn and tattered purse, holding the mirror under Harper''s nose. She gasped when the surface didn''t fog. Then the woman stole her shoes. Harper opened and closed her mouth several times, like a gasping fish out of water, not a

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