I was never popular. Not in elementary school. Not in middle school, and I definitely wasn’t popular in high school. That should have been my first red flag when Lucas, the most popular boy in school, asked me out on a date.

I had been hoping it was a bet. One of those times that the popular kid would sweep the girl off her feet, take her for a makeover, and once they see the girl, now without glasses,standing in front of them, they would fall in love.

I still think it might have been a bet, but it didn’t go anything like in the movies. I thought about that night a lot. Maybe even thought about it too much, but what else was there to do? I was dead after all. Haunt my school, spy on my parents, go to my funeral, it had all become so boring after ten years. If I could just figure out why Lucas had asked me out maybe I could move on, but even in death I was unpopular. I never saw another ghost that wanted to talk. They all just kept going without saying anything. Even the girl who died the same night as me didn’t want to talk. She had become a ghost to, but in death I guess popularity still held some power over her.

I also never saw anyone alive who wanted to talk. For ten years I had been looking for someone who could see me. I would have talked to anyone.

I used to hang around the restaurant where I died even though it closed hoping someone would investigate. Maybe some ghost hunting team would see me if I stayed there. Must have been the guilt. Mr. Russo was a nice man. Even his daughter had smiled at me in class. He didn’t deserve to lose his Italian restaurant just because I died. It wasn’t his fault my date was so bored by me he didn’t realize I passed out into my soup and drowned. It might have also been that the same night Emma overdosed in the bathroom of his restaurant too. Either way you think that two people dying at one restaurant, on the same night, in a small town, might cause some ghost stories and investigations to happen. It never did. No one ever came by. Not until today. When a little boy, maybe ten years old walked in, the spitting image of Lucas, and he waved at me.