You’d think talking to dead people would earn you some kind of status—power, maybe. A title. But it doesn’t. Not here. Not in this painfully beige suburb with its over-filtered morning light and Instagrammable locker décor. Here, being different doesn’t make you special. It just makes you weird. And weird girls don’t get invited to parties. Especially not the ones hosted by ghosts.

I never asked to see them—the "Deados." They just started showing up after that day. You know, the kind of day that changes you in a way no one can see, but you feel in your bones like a storm rolling in behind your ribs. Since then, I’ve been stuck in this liminal in-between: not quite normal, not quite dead.

That’s when she returned.

Capri Donahue. Cheerleader royalty, reincarnated drama queen, and the last girl you'd expect to come knocking from the afterlife with glittery nails and unfinished business. Her death was as on-brand as her life—electrifying, tragic, and live-streamed via a bathroom socket. Now she’s haunting my already haunted existence, determined to throw one last perfect party before “crossing over.” Of course.

Except… things are never that simple with Capri.

She’s vain, magnetic, subtly cruel in a way only the most popular girls know how to be. She calls it honesty. I call it emotional sabotage with a lip gloss smile. Still, there’s something about her—a crack in the porcelain. And I see it, even when she’s floating two inches above the ground, commanding me to borrow her glitter boots and "channel my inner HBIC."

So now, between dodging actual hauntings and Capri's spectral makeovers, I’m stuck training to become someone I’m not… with someone who technically isn’t even alive.

But maybe that’s the thing no one tells you about ghosts: They don't always linger because they're lost. Sometimes, they’re just not ready to be forgotten.

And Capri? She refuses to be forgotten.