I shrugged back. “I don’t know. Maybe I am.”

He smiled—an unbelievably casual gesture, considering the topic. “You mean you don’t know if electrification is a common trait for ghosts?”

I stared at him, openmouthed. Was he joking about me being dead? “Um . . . no, Joshua, I have no idea what is or isn’t a common trait for ghosts. This is my first . . . ah . . .”

“Haunting?” he offered.

I snorted. “Yes, this is my first haunting.”

“Then I’m flattered.”

“Joshua,” I said, rubbing my forehead, “you’re taking this awfully well.”

He sighed, still smiling, and walked over to sit beside me again on the bench. Tingles, like little licks of the flame I’d just experienced, raced along the side of my body closest to him.

“You know, I’ve heard ghost stories all my life. Especially ones about the bridge, from my grandma. I’ve never believed any of them, of course. But like I said before, I kind of have to now, don’t I? Because otherwise I’m crazy, and I’m talking to a beautiful, electrified, imaginary girl.”

“I swear I’m not imaginary.” An uncontrollable grin spread across my face. “I would know if I was imaginary, right?”

He laughed, rubbed his palm down the length of his thigh, and then raised his hand up toward heaven as if to ask the sky that same question. “Who knows? Maybe we’re both crazy. But I’d like to think I’m not just talking to myself on a park bench.”

“Well, you probably look like you are, you know.”

“Huh.” He frowned. “I hadn’t really thought of that.” He glanced around the clearing, looking relieved at the emptiness of our surroundings. “We’re going to have to be kind of careful about that, aren’t we?”

“We are?” I sort of croaked the question. “We’re planning on future conversations . . . and in public?”

“Of course.” He shook his head impatiently and then abruptly switched gears. “So, am I really the only person who can see you?”

“The only living person,” I qualified.

“What about other dead people?”

His question, and the fact that I had absolutely no idea what rules governed this situation, gave me a disconcerting jolt. Because I knew of only one other soul who could possibly know the answer—Eli. Eli, who could clearly see me, and who I could now see, too. Eli might be able to tell me every “how” and “why” about what was happening between Joshua and me. But I mentally shook my head firmly against the idea of contacting him. I made an internal vow never to fulfill Eli’s prophecy that I would seek him out voluntarily. Nor would I let Joshua know about Eli if I could help it.

“I’m not so sure about that one,” I answered cautiously. “I haven’t had a lot of experience with that.”

“Hmm.” Joshua pondered my response briefly. I expected some kind of follow-up question, one that would certainly be harder to answer; but he asked me something entirely different.

“Just out of curiosity—why did you ask me what you look like? When we were on the bridge yesterday.”

I wasn’t prepared for that question, either. I covered my mouth with one hand. “God, Joshua, do I really have to answer this one?” My words came out muffled, and dripping with embarrassment. But he just stared at me expectantly, so I sighed and dropped my hand. “I guess it’s because I have no idea what I look like.”

He blinked. “Seriously?”

“Um, yeah.”

“No reflection?”

“No, not that I’ve ever seen. I mean, I can see some of myself without a mirror.” I gestured down at my clothes and then up at my hair. “I just can’t remember what my face looks like. I think I sort of . . . forgot.”

“Wow,” he breathed.

“I know.” I sighed again. “Incredibly embarrassing, right?”

Joshua didn’t answer me. Instead, he sat in complete, motionless silence, thinking who knows what. I was too mortified to speak, and he was staring at me in an intent way that, of course, unnerved me further.

Finally, he broke the silence. “I wasn’t lying yesterday when I said you’re beautiful.”

Wow.

“Oh,” I said aloud, and suddenly found something very interesting to study on the filmy, tulle overlay of my skirt. I spared a quick glance up at him and found him grinning at me.

“Should I go on?” he asked.

I could swear I heard an almost playful tone in his question. I shrugged as casually as possible, considering I simultaneously wanted to jump up and down while giggling and disappear into a hole in the earth.

“Your hair, it’s dark brown and wavy,” he said nonchalantly, as if he were cataloging the inventory of a store. “You’re pale, but you’ve got some freckles on your nose. Your eyes are really green, like the color of the leaves. And your mouth . . . well, your mouth is . . . pretty.”

If I could have blushed, I would have.

“Oh,” I repeated. One syllable seemed to be all I could muster right now. Joshua studied my face and, possibly seeing my discomfort, grinned.

“Now, your dress makes an interesting statement,” he teased.

I sniffed, trying not to feel wounded. “So, let me get this straight: I have a pretty mouth and an ugly dress? I’ll tell you what—if you can find me the ghosts of someone’s tank top and cutoffs, I’ll get right into them, I swear.”

Joshua grinned wider and shook his head. “No, the dress isn’t ugly.” He gave my figure a quick scan of appraisal and then added, “Far from it, actually.”

“Oh,” I said again. My eyes dropped right back down to my dress. Once more I wished it covered a bit more of my skin. I wondered what kind of girl I’d been to pick out a showy outfit like this: someone bold and confident; someone flashy and mean?

Joshua, however, obviously wasn’t as bothered by my clothing as I was. He chuckled quietly and leaned back against the table with his arms folded across his chest. We sat that way for a while, him in a casually amused pose and me with my eyes glued once more to my skirt. The issue of whether or not I wore a sexy dress was the least of our worries, and I knew it.

Eventually, Joshua leaned forward again.

“So what else should I know about you?”

I couldn’t seem to pull my eyes away from my skirt. “Well, how about this: I can’t feel anything I touch. Except you, apparently.”

“What? You can’t feel anything?”

“Nope. Not this bench, those trees—nothing. I can’t even open doors.”

“But what about people? I mean, you and I obviously—”

“I know,” I interrupted. “I have no idea how to explain what just happened between us. You’re the first person I’ve ever tried to touch, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to feel anyone else. Not like . . . well, you and me, anyway.”

“Any guesses as to why that is?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s like what I said earlier, about you being able to see me. Since you were dead for a little while, maybe you can see ghosts and you can sort of touch them. And maybe a connection like that can wake up a ghost’s senses, too. At least a little.”

“Maybe,” he mused. After a few seconds he added, “That’s kind of a sad statement on the afterlife, though, isn’t it? That you can’t feel anything unless someone else dies, too?”

I nodded vigorously, still staring at my dress. Once again Joshua didn’t respond but instead fell into a thoughtful silence. Eventually, I peeked up at him, just in time to see what I thought might be a rare, dark look pass over his face. It stung me, that look—as if Joshua might have finally reached the crucial moment when he realized how crazy all of this really was. But instead, he just shook his head and gave me a sympathetic smile.

“You know, Amelia, being dead must really . . . suck.”

I barked out a surprised laugh. “Yes, Joshua. It does, in fact, suck.”

We chuckled together. In our laughs, I could hear the strange mix of relief and tension. Then Joshua furrowed his eyebrows and rubbed his hands together.