"My sister and I shared a room."

"Sleepover every night," Ghost indulged, braces glistening in the dull light of the room.

"Kind of."

Silence fell. The younger girl fidgeted. Again, she spoke.

..."Do you miss her?"

Brigitte regarded her quietly. Every day. Every minute. Every second. Everything I think about.

Ginger and Brigitte walking home. Jason McCardy'd just made a pass at the older of the two.

"Just say you won't go average on me," Brigitte pleaded.

"Just 'cause some gonad gets his zipper going?" Ginger scoffed. "I'd rather be dead."

"I'd rather die than be here without you.."

She turned away. "All the time."

Sleep came that night. It could've been because Ghost was good company. It might've been the result of sheer exhaustion. But it was, without a doubt, overdue.

"Brigitte." His voice is urgent. But it's also low.

"This is it, Sam." She's ready with what she has to say. "The end."

He smiles, knowingly. For someone who's made it her life's purpose to be an inpenetrable misanthrope, it shouldn't be that easy to smile in such a way. She'll never forgive him for it.

"Let's not panic here," Sam repeats.

"I don't think I can help it," she confides. A more honest admission of weakness was never spoken to her own sister.

But he nods, damn him, he nods in the affirmative. "You can."

His voice descends to new levels everytime he speaks.

"Why are you here?" she asks, more indignant than intended.

He doesn't faulter. Can you phase a ghost? "I came to see you." He wears the same expression he usually wears when accosted, like when she tried to dismiss him after he'd tried visiting her in class on the school field.

"Why bother?"

He doesn't miss a beat. "I'm about to tell you something. Something only 4 years worth of being dead could've possibly brought to light. Something an asshole like me couldn't possibly say unless I was dead."

She waits.

"I didn't decide to help you out of the goodness of my heart. And.." He scratches the back of his head, searching visually for words. "Brigitte, I never once believed you could be the animal your sister turned out. No, that's not it.." He's visibly aggravated with himself.

"What the hell are you trying to say?"

"That I believe in you. That before I died you proved me wrong about something." Sam licked his lips. This wasn't easy.

"I kept coming back. Before I knew it, I was helping someone other than myself. And I thought, 'if I could help her', if this kind of shit really exists in this world, then maybe..."

She searched his face, all of the modesty and tension that had built up in that half a month they knew one another rushing to the forefront of her dreaming mind.

.."maybe there was a little hope left for me, you know?"

And then she knew. This kind of shit. Not the impossible existence of lycanthropes, or horror, or a virus that turns your dearest family into a living nightmare. He was talking about love.

The sort of understanding one has for another when it seems the world is nothing short of a walking parody of a beautiful, but lost, truth. The kind that she could only share with Ginger.

This is what he felt.

But this is a dream.

...Isn't it?

Brigitte Fitzgerald didn't know what to say. Sam McDonald was opening his heart. And wasn't this, this feeling of affinity, what was transpiring everytime he came to her at Bailey Downs High? Wasn't associating with her, speaking to her with a solid integrity an indication that certain things were at work?

"Um, I don't think of you that way."

Sam picked up on this. "I didn't want it that way Brigitte," he chuckles. He's dancing on the balls of his feet uncomfortably. "I mean.."

"You don't have to explain."

"You won't be asleep forever."

A pause. "But I'll be asleep again."

Sunlight, prying it's slender fingers into her eyes. I can fight it. I want this.

"No," he whispers grimly. "This is our last time." The ghost manages a smile. "But hey. I'm satisfied."


Morning. Birds chirping, Ghost snoring. Their ankles are entertwined, she notices. She turns on her side, awkwardly, the dream pasted to her thoughts.

I have something to say. Another hour. Please.

Tenderly, so as not to wake the younger girl, she lays an arm across Ghosts, willing sleep to return.

Sam, however, didn't.

Authors notes: I implore you to be nice with this. A couple of things to confess: I realize the narration changed. It couldn't be helped. If, for some irreparable reason you can't get past that, I'm sorry. But really, in what reality will this be published? This isn't serious work. The timing was rushed, the story progression was premature, and the behavior of our two leading character's may've been skewed to some degree. But despite all of this, I'm somewhat proud. :) If I come up with more ideas, you'll be sure to hear of it. But this is more of a "scattered moment" ensemble piece. Love, Sami.