A/N: This is actually my friend's story, not mine. She hasn't got an account yet, and has requested that I put this on mine until we make her one. Please review, and there is a twist coming up, so be warned. Thanks, guys!

DISCLAIMER: Everything you recognize from the Mediator books belongs to Meggin Patricia Cabot, and not to Katie, my friend, or myself, Lauren.

~*~

Hi, my name is Suze. Susannah Simon, to be all posh and everything, but Suze will do fine, trust me. I'm not what you'd call a normal teenage girl. Well, to tell you the truth, I'm nowhere near normal. You see, I can talk and see to the undead. Yes, ghosts. Hey, not like the sixth sense or anything, I mean, they don't look like how they did when they died, the ghosts I mean. I'm what you call a mediator, and I'm supposed to guide the lost souls to their next life, be it heaven, hell, or wherever they are supposed to go next.

I'm serious.

And on top of all that, I had no choice in this matter! I didn't pick to be stuck with this stupid job or anything, I was unlucky enough to be born with it. So I'm stuck with it whether I like it or not.

I'm my mum's greatest disappointment. Not that she knows about the whole "I see dead people" thing. She just thinks I'm slightly unsocial, a bit rebellious at times, who doesn't "yet" have a boyfriend. Ha! If she ever knew about the whole thing, she would totally freak and ship me off to a mental house. I can't blame her, I mean, I'd freak out if I found out my daughter was a nut case. Yeah, so you can see why I don't tell her anything. Or anyone else, if I can help it.

My step-brother Sleepy, a.k.a. Jake already thinks I'm in some sort of gang. 'How else,' he says, 'are you going to explain all those bruises?' And so as much as I object that I don't belong to any mobs, I can't tell him how all these abrasions across my body came to be. Because it's the because of the ghosts that I'm always sneaking out at night. And half the time, much to my chagrin, yes, I do come back all bruised and beaten to a bloody pulp. Well, not exactly. But hey! I've always done worse to the ghost than it has done to me!

Really I have.

Yes, I can't say this to old Sleepy. He wouldn't exactly be like 'Oh, all right then, that's cool,' and walk off. Maybe if I tell him when he's really, really tired. Mmm.

Well, I must tell you, that beyond the whole mediation thing that I got dealt with at birth, beyond all the bruises and insults and attempted murders, there is one perk. Yeah, that'd be the ghost of a hundred and fifty year old guy living in my bedroom. No, let me rephrase that. The ghost of an approximately twenty year old hottie who has lived in my bedroom for a hundred and fifty years, and had no intention of moving out until he was forced to by my principal. Long story, I'll explain later. Let me tell you, it was a very nice surprise to walk into my bedroom when I moved from Brooklyn to sunny California to find it was already occupied by six feet of sizzling, Latino hotness, whom I'm contented to say that I've kissed twice, yes twice, so far, and we are not even going out. Hey, not to say that I go around kissing dead people. I mean, I wouldn't, for any money, kiss a rotten, flesh-eaten corpse. Ew. Cockroaches disgust me less than that, and that IS saying something. Nah, I just go around kissing the one ghost. Actually, he kisses me.

Jesse de Silva is his name. He is, currently, the reason that I'm jumping out of my window every night to go look for him, as he took off when he found me playing tonsil hockey with this other mediator, Paul Slater. Who I might mention, tried to send my Jesse to purgatory, and tried to kill me. Yeah, Paul came into my room not long ago, and kind of forced himself on me, which was really bad timing, because Jesse materialized, (yes, he can materialize and de-materialize, the lucky devil,) and saw Paul sticking his tongue down my throat. I mean, EWWWWWWW! (I still sterilize it daily.) I mean, Jesse was the reason that I was letting Paul do this, you know, trying to a) keep Paul from telling him about his past antics, and my reactions to his past antics, and b) stop Paul from sending Jesse away. Gee, Suze, great job, letting Paul carry on with his past antics where Jesse can see you. Great one. So now, I'm getting ready to go look for him again so I can explain what the hell is going on. I owe that to him at least.

Midnight.

Ah, joy. I jump out the window with extra care, as not to break anything, and land with a hard thud on the concrete, that sends pain up my legs, as it does when you jump onto something hard. I nick Dopey's bike, (my second oldest step-brother,) and pedal to my school, the Mission Academy. I dump the bike over near the gate, and walk inside. This was where he was most likely to be, but then again, he hadn't been here for ages, so I'll see.

Hang on! Who's that?! I squint over to the edge of the water fountain, and there, highlighted by a gentle spectral glow, was the one to whom my heart belonged. I walked over, and put my hand on his shoulder.

'Jesse, I'm sorry-' I began.

He turned sharply, and stood up. Yeah, he was like a head taller? It was a little intimidating. Oh, just a little.

'What are you doing here, Susannah?' he asked coldly, his dark eyes piercing my own. 'Shouldn't you be with your precious Paul?'

'-Jesse, it's so not what you think. Let me explain-'

'No, Susannah, you don't need to. It's perfectly clear to me. I only wish that I had known earlier then I wouldn't have had to have gone through all of this. You do realise, that you hurt me, right?'

Whoa, he was mad. I took a step back from him. 'Jesse, shut up, you don't understand-'

He grabbed my shoulders and shook me slightly. His hands were clasped firmly on my arms, almost painfully. I knew what I had to do though.

I mean, after what Paul said he'd do, I had to. But I was hoping that I could have explained first.

'Yes, Jesse. I just came to say I'm sorry, but this is goodbye,' I said. He let go of my shoulders very suddenly. I felt horrible and corrupt. The sadness in his eyes was contagious, and I felt like fainting at the pain of it.

'Goodbye, then, Susannah,' he said softly. No "querida"? Well, to be expected. Very quickly, he kissed my forehead, and dematerialized.

'I love you, Jesse,' I said, the misery in my heart overwhelming me. I'd lied to protect him, and now I'd probably never see him again. Was this what it would take for him to move on?

I hope not.