Buddy walked me to the front door.
“I hope,” he said, looking somewhere near his feet, “you and me can be more than friends.”
My stomach squeezed.
“I don’t see why not,” I said. But what I meant was, I know your dead girlfriend and that could be a reason you and me can’t be here together. ’Cause she’s seen us at school and she might see us here at my house. Er. Her house. Uh. Whatever.
Maybe we couldn’t be together anywhere. What did I know?
“Really, Evie?” Buddy looked out from under his lashes.
“Really,” I said. He looked so cute, staring at me that way. So cute, and a little sad. His eyes were so clear I could almost see myself in them. And that little pout . . . he leaned toward me . . .
“No!” I said, putting my hands against his chest. I felt his heart beating.
“What?”
“We can’t . . . you know.” I lowered my voice, glancing over my shoulder and then his. “Kiss. Out here.”
Did Tommie watch from my bedroom—or was it her bedroom—right now?
“Why not? We have before. Wait. Did your parents see us?”
I shook my head.
“Then . . . what are you thinking?” Buddy looked serious. Like he really thought we could figure things out. But how can you do that with a ghost in the mix? “Do you want to give us time? Like to start over or something?”
A mockingbird cried out from a tree in the front yard. Aunt Odie drove past in slow motion. She gave the I’m looking at you hand signal. I shook my head at her. Gosh. There was no privacy from the living or the dead.
“I think,” I said, pulling him by the hand, “we need to just go over to your place. Unless you and Tommie spent a lot of time there.”
He nodded. “We did. My mom loved her too.”
Well, then.
“Okay.” I thought a moment. Aunt Odie’s. I had to work there anyway. Had Tommie ever been down to her place before she died? Only one way to tell. “Come on.”