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bumps into, like, three more people, apologizing each time, which makes him look like the klutziest person on earth but also proves that other people can see him now.
    I turn to face him. “What do you want?” My teeth are clenched, and I twist my face into the harshest leave me alone expression I can muster.
    “I just want to talk to you.”
    “Leave me alone. Go talk to Genna.”
    He falls into step beside me, and I know there’s no getting rid of him. When we arrive at the caf, he opens the door and ushers me through. So he’s got manners. Must mean he died a long time ago, because those are in short supply these days.
    We don’t speak as we wind our way through the food line. I stick to my usual, a burger and pizza. Ghost Boy disappears for a moment, well, not literally, and reappears next to me in the checkout with a salad, french bread, a bowl of minestrone, and — is that a pomegranate? Where’d he find that?
    “So you eat?” I ask him.
    “Yes, I eat.”
    “Whatever.” I shrug and turn away to swipe my dining card. He follows me to one of the perpetually empty tables no one else likes because it’s too close to both the exit door and the kitchen entrance and too far from the action. He sits directly across the table, uninvited, and digs in to his food.
    He eats like a normal boy — big shovelfuls enter his mouth — but somehow he’s more graceful, less urgent. Still, it seems like he’s enjoying it. I remember I’m supposed to be ignoring him and not staring at his mouth.
    He doesn’t say anything else, and while the silence isn’t uncomfortable, my curiosity gets the better of me. “So, are you going to stalk me, too?”
    “You could always see me?” he asks, dabbing his face with a napkin like he’s the friggin’ prince of England or something.
    “Yeah, I see dead people,” I whisper. His blank face doesn’t register the pop culture reference. “I guess you died before that movie came out.”
    I look around. There’s nobody close enough to hear, but I still feel like I shouldn’t be sharing this, as if saying it out loud will immediately result in me being put back in that place. Like the van and the men in white coats will come take me away in a straightjacket. Not that that’s how it really happens.
    But he’s staring at me with his hypnotic eyes, blinking, and I remember that the dead don’t blink. It’s something I forgot after I stopped looking at them on purpose.
    At my first foster home, there was a kid who hung around named Brayden. His mom had killed him. Locked him in the basement until he starved to death. His bones protruded from his sallow skin, and his eyes swam huge in his face. Eyes that never blinked. We used to have staring contests and he won, every time. I quickly learned never to play games with the dead.
    “What’s your name again?”
    “Caleb,” he says, and dammit, my gaze is drawn to his mouth as he makes the word, and I wonder what his lips would feel like. It’s a crazy thought, and I have no idea where it came from. That thing inside someone that makes them attracted to other people is broken in me.
    I should have told the guy in the drugstore that, yesterday.
    “Caleb,” I repeat. The name feels good coming out of my mouth. “I’ve seen the dead all my life. Not as fun as it sounds, trust me. What I can’t figure out is what kind of ghost you are. You’re different from the rest.”
    “Because I’m not a ghost.”
    I stare at him for a moment. “What are you, then?”
    “I’m angelborn .” He says it like it should make some sense. Like he’s just explained everything with that simple word.
    “What?”
    “Angelborn. Half human, half angel.”
    “But you’re … you’re not all blinding and bright.”
    He sits back, shock apparent on his face. “You can see angels as well?”
    I nod, then sit up straighter. Caleb’s back is to the room, so he doesn’t see what just appeared on the other side, by the main doors. “In fact,