Chapter 2

Julian and I had been mortal enemies since we were seven.

That year, my mom divorced, and we moved to the city.

Mr. and Mrs. Davies, who lived across the street, pushed their eight-year-old son, Julian, towards me.

"Julian, hold her hand, maybe you two will be family someday."

But despite having the setup of childhood sweethearts, we couldn't stand each other.

In elementary school, he couldn't stand my timidness, teasing my voice was like a "tiny, squeaky quail."

I couldn't stand how childish he was.

He was in fourth or fifth grade, and he was still playing in the sandbox with kindergarten kids.

When we hit middle school, I started caring about my appearance.

I'd tie my oversized school jacket around my waist, just like the other girls.

The very next class, he'd report me to the disciplinary committee.

I wasn't one to back down, though. I'd puncture his bike tires, draw ridiculous mustaches on his face.

Whatever felt good, I'd do it. There was no reasoning with him.

Later, in high school and college, our adversarial relationship barely improved.

I'd be discussing the class party with the class president, and he'd go tell my mom I was "secretly dating."

I finally saved up money to buy a beautiful white dress, only for him to laugh and say I looked like a walking string bean.

He didn't even attend my funeral after I died.

It wasn't until two months later that he showed up, completely wasted.

He danced wildly in front of my grave.

Shaking my tombstone, "Summer, don't sleep! Wake up and party!"

How incredibly rude of him!

In the middle of the night, singing and dancing, he scared me so badly I cried and screamed.

For a moment, I couldn't tell if he was the ghost or not.

My relationship with Julian always was, and only ever was, that of mortal enemies.

Being hugged by him like that for the first time, I almost got scared back to life.

I instinctively grabbed his arm, flipped him 180 degrees, and tossed him onto the hospital bed.

"Go on, get back in there!"

When I threw him, the timing was perfect.

He slammed right back into his body on the bed.

Julian woke up.

The blood oxygen and heart rate monitors slowly stabilized.

Before long, he opened his eyes.

But he'd probably been in the river too long.

His brain was waterlogged, and he wasn't fully conscious.

He opened his eyes for less than a minute before closing them again and falling back asleep.

It wasn't until noon the next day that he woke up again, was transferred out of the ICU, and moved into a luxurious private room.

After waking up, Julian's gaze at the ceiling was vacant.

Very different from the wailing ghost who'd hugged me yesterday.

He seemed lifeless, without a spark of energy.

Even his breathing was shallow, and he didn't respond no matter what the nurses asked.

I felt a little worried.

Did I really whack him so hard yesterday that he became brain-damaged?

If it really was because of me that he became an idiot.

And he eventually died and blamed me, demanding compensation.

How could I, a penniless ghost who barely gets a bouquet of flowers on her anniversary, be responsible for him?

"Julian, you're dumb because your brain got waterlogged, not my fault, okay?"

Even though I knew he couldn't hear me, I couldn't help but squat down and whisper into his ear.

The moment the words left my lips, Julian on the hospital bed suddenly moved.

He turned his head, his amber eyes looking right at me.

Our eyes met.

Startled, I instinctively leaned back.

My entire ghostly self wasn't careful and "plop" I fell onto the floor.

My head buzzed.

No way.

He can see me?