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I shrugged. “Around.”

He considered me. “Yeah. Okay. I’m Cassian.” He held his hand out.

I stared at it. “What’s that?”

“It’s the formal thing to do. You know. Introducing each other. Shaking of the hands. Do you not do that where you’re from?”

“Where I’m from?”

“You’re new. We’ve gone over this. Your full name is Colette, right? I heard about the new girl, but I have no clue where you’re from.”

“Oh. Yeah. Colette Washington. Call me Cole.” My stomach was doing all sorts of little flips and twists. I held my hand out, hesitated, and then fit it to his, and immediately I swooshed, regretting it but not regretting it at the same time. An excited tingle shot through me, warming me up, and settled in my chest.

His eyes widened a second as he held my hand longer than maybe he should’ve. Or I should’ve. We both could’ve pulled our hands away.

We didn’t.

“Cole, huh? Not Coco?”

“Please, no.” I groaned. “To the Coco part. I prefer Cole.”

“Cole it is.” His eyes suddenly grew serious. He shifted closer to me. He didn’t lean toward me but actually moved his whole body closer so his jeans were touching my leggings. Our hips grazed against each other. He still held my hand. “There’s a party tonight. Go with me.”

A party? Tonight.

“It’s Homecoming.” I pulled my hand away, reluctantly. His gaze fell down, the lines around his eyes crinkled a little, but he didn’t say anything.

“Wai—shit. You’re right. Fuck.” His head fell back against his locker. “I have to take Claudia to the dance and there’s a whole friend thing happening.” His eyes slid my way, torn. “I’m really not liking my friends right now.”

A grin tugged at my mouth. It showed before I could smooth it out, but I needed to make my face go blank because what were we doing here? One handshake and he wanted to date? More like one handshake and he probably wanted in my pants. That seemed more plausible.

“She’s still there.” The first ghost was coming back, followed by two more. A guy with blond hair, shoulder-length. Both of them were Caucasian. From what I could see, he had a fair complexion. Almost dainty-like features. She was older, mid-forties. Dark red hair swept up and pinned behind her head. A smattering of freckles on her face. Pinched nose and mouth, or maybe that was her pinching them. He gave off nice energy. She did not.

I paused.

They were on us in seconds, swarming us as the guy, who now that he was closer, I could see he was another teenager. My age when he died. The woman looked in her forties. The guy was inspecting me, right in my face. I held my breath since he was right there.

The first ghost cleared her throat. “Uh, reminder. She can see us.”

The guy’s eyes widened, met mine. He jerked back. “Oh, goodness. My apologies.” He indicated himself and the others. “We tend to ignore personal space because, well, you Livings don’t know we exist. I can see that’s not the case with you. I’m Shelton.”

The woman cleared her throat before also getting in my face, her hand held out. “I’m Beatrice. It’s exciting to meet a Living that can see and hear us. You have no idea how dire the library is in. There’s so much work to do. Now, come on. Snap, snap. Let’s get to work. Follow me.” She began going back toward the library.

Cassian had been studying me. “Where’d you go just now?” He looked around. “You see the ghosts too, huh?”

My mouth hit the floor.

The girl ghost gaped.

The guy gasped.

Beatrice screamed, whirling around.

Cassian’s eyes rounded. “I was joking, but—” He gave the hallway another inspection. Longer. Slower. “Okay. So my cousin is psychic. She swears this place is haunted.”

What do I do here?

I forced out a harsh laugh. “Oh! I thought you were saying you could see ghosts or something.”