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Dad frowned and shook his head. “I don't think so, Lilah.”

“Sure he does,” Bubby said. “Marilyn wouldn't have been my first choice for him, but she's a good cook and he enjoys her company. Even though I'm a better bridge player. But it's nice to see him happy. Now, Lilah, don't go telling your father our little secret. He wouldn't get it, would he?”

I shook my head. She was right. He totally wouldn't get it. And he definitely wouldn't be on board with the whole finding him a wife thing.

“Good girl. Now don't fill up too much on that pizza!”

I was just thinking about how she hadn't changed, when she said, “Because your dad brought home a carton of Chunky Monkey!”

I took another bite of my pizza to hide my smile. Maybe hearing my dead grandmother was going to be pretty cool, after all.

After I ate, I returned to my room to call Alex and let her know I was okay.

She was very relieved to hear it and told me I had become an overnight celebrity at school. People couldn't wait to see me, the lightning-strike survivor.

I could tell she was disappointed when I told her I wouldn't be back to school until at least Wednesday.

I wanted to cheer her up, but wasn't sure I wanted to tell her about my grandmother yet. It was still kind of freaky. And what if it was just an aftereffect of the lightning? What if it was all in my head?

Keeping it a secret, at least for a little while, seemed like a good idea.

“Andrew Finkel asked me how you're doing, by the way.”

My heart skipped in my chest. “What?”

“Yep,” Alex said, sounding all smug. “He said he hopes you're okay.”

“
How
did he say it?” It's imperative to know these details.

“How I just said it, ‘
I hope she's okay
.'”

“Do you think…” I couldn't even say it.

“Do I think what?”

“Nothing.”

“What, Lilah?”

“Nothing. Really. Who else? Did the teachers say anything?”

“Well, in science class, Mrs. Campbell taught us
about lightning and the best ways to avoid being hit by it.”

I snorted. “Too late!”

She laughed. “Well yeah,
for you
, but Anita was really freaked out, so at least everyone knows how it happened and how to be safe in storms.”

I guess it was a good idea. Although I wished I could have been there. I was looking forward to my newfound notoriety. I'd never been famous for anything before.

And to think that Andrew Finkel asked about me…

“So, Lilah?” Alex asked quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Were you really scared?” I could tell by my best friend's voice that she was. I wonder what it must have been like for her to watch the ambulance take me away to the hospital. It was probably the scariest thing ever.

“I don't remember, to be truthful. I mean, one second I'm standing there and the next, I wake up in the hospital. I didn't even have a chance to
get
scared.”

“I was scared,” Alex said, and I could hear her crying. “I was scared you were dead.”

“I'm sorry,” I said.

“It's not your fault. But I'm glad the lightning didn't kill you. I'm really glad.”

“So am I, Alex.”

After a few minutes more, Alex had to go because her mom needed to use the phone, but she promised to call me right after school the next day to report on anything I missed.

After I hung up I took a deep breath, and it's like it all hit me at once. I began to cry really hard.

“Don't worry, Lilah,” my grandmother said. “You're fine.” And then I felt warm all over. Like I was getting a big hug from her.

Which is really weird, if you think about it.

Oh, kiddo, you don't have to do that,” Dad said as he walked in the door from work and saw me cooking dinner. “You should be resting.”

I didn't stop tearing the lettuce for the salad. “It's okay, I feel fine.” Bored was more like it. I actually couldn't wait to get back to school.

He put his briefcase down and kicked off his shoes. “What are we having?”

“I defrosted some salmon for the barbecue. And I'm making salad and steamed asparagus.”

“Good choice.” Dad came into the kitchen and put his hand on my back. “You sure you're feeling up to this?”

I was about to say that if I could handle talking to my dead grandmother, I was up for tossing a salad,
but I wasn't ready to tell Dad about my new ability. Not yet. Maybe never.

“Yeah, I'm okay,” I said.

“You're a good girl, keeping me fed and happy,” Dad said, picking a cherry tomato out of the salad and popping it into his mouth.

I thought about my grandmother's plea for help. Dad needed more than just his daughter in his life to make him happy. Bubby was so right. Dad totally needed to get out there and start meeting people. He wasn't the type to find anyone at work, since he was more of a head-down kinda guy (and I'd never even heard him mention any women at the insurance firm where he worked as an actuary).

And then there was that. He was an
actuary
. I wasn't sure what he did exactly, but it had to do with policies, numbers, and minimizing risk or something. Yawn.

“Hey, Dad?” I asked as he leaned over the sink to turn on the tap. One of his ways of “minimizing risk” was to wash his hands a thousand times a day. If he ever did find a woman, she was going to have to be a germophobe, too, or his hygiene habits would drive her nuts.

“Yes, honey?”

“Now that Mom's married…” His entire body stiffened at my words, but I powered through,
determined to have this conversation. “Um, do you think that maybe you'll start dating?”

He seemed not to have heard me as he lathered up the soap and took great care to get the foam in between every finger and even under the wedding band he still wore.

“Where is this coming from, Lilah?” he finally asked after a good rinse. He was stalling; it was totally obvious.

“Well, I just thought it's been a long time, and you never go out or anything…”

Dad pushed the tap off with his elbow and looked at me, holding up his hands in front of him like he was a surgeon getting ready to remove an appendix. Then he reached for a paper towel (“Dish towels harbor germs, Lilah”). “I don't need to be dating.”

That made no sense at all. “Dad.”

He opened the fridge, rooting around for his nightly predinner glass of tomato juice.

“Dad!” I said again.

He turned back toward me, abandoning the juice. “What is it, Lilah?” It was like he had completely forgotten what I had said.

“You
do
need to be dating. I hate to be mean, but look at you, Dad. You're thirty-eight, single, and you spend every evening at home, drinking your tomato juice and either playing Scrabble with your daughter
or watching TV by yourself. You're in a rut. You need to get out there before it's too late.”

“I
like
playing Scrabble with my daughter.” He almost sounded pouty. But it was a good thing; it meant he was actually listening.

I tilted my head and gave him that look. The one he gave me when
he
wasn't buying
my
story. “Really? You like it
that
much?”

He pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down, a big sigh escaping him as he did. “Am I that pathetic, Lilah?”

I took the chair beside him. “I wouldn't say
pathetic
. Maybe just a little sad and in denial.”

“Ouch.”

“Sorry.”

He shook his head. “Don't be. You're right.” He reached out and grabbed my hand. “And thank you for caring enough to say so. I'm sure it's not easy to tell your old man he's
sad and in denial
.”

“We worry about you, Dad.”

He cocked his head. “Who's ‘we'?”

Uh-oh. Where was my dead grandmother when I needed her? Here I was doing her dirty work and she was MIA.

“We,” I said, making a big gesture with my arms. “
We
, like a
collective we
. You know.” It was a total stretch, but there was a better chance that Dad would
think I was a nut than guess his dead mother was the other part of who I meant when I'd said “we.”

It seemed to satisfy him.

“I guess it's been long enough since the divorce.”

“Yeah, she's not coming back, Dad.”

“No kidding.”

“Maybe you could go on an Internet dating site.”

Dad groaned. “Doesn't that smack of desperation?”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Good point,” he said. “I get it. How about this, though. George at work has been trying to fix me up with his divorced sister. I'll say yes to that, and if it doesn't go well,
then
I'll try the Internet thing.”

I nodded. “That sounds fair.”

We even shook on it. Mission accomplished.

It almost seemed
too
easy.

The first day back at school started out like any other. Alex met me on the corner, and we continued on to the redbrick building that was our school.

I hadn't heard from my grandmother in over a day, so while Alex was droning on about how horrible our math test was (the one I'd missed the day before), I was beginning to think my powers had disappeared overnight.

Although it was a relief, I was a little sad. I hadn't had a chance to say good-bye to my grandmother and almost missed her presence.

But as I opened the door to school, countless voices hit me, like someone had turned on a thousand radios right in front of me. The force of it was overwhelming. I fell to my knees, dropping the door handle.

“Lilah?” Alex said, squatting down beside me.

I took a deep breath.

She shook my shoulder. “Lilah? You okay?”

Looking up at my friend, I nodded and took another breath. “I think there's something I need to tell you.”

“You're not dying, are you?” Normally I would laugh at such a ridiculous question, but Alex's face was completely serious. It made sense that she was concerned, since she'd been really scared after I'd been hit by lightning.

I shook my head. “No, nothing like that. I…” I looked around to make sure we were alone. “Since the lightning, I have… I have abilities.”

She frowned. “What?”

It felt bizarre to say it out loud, but there was no way Alex would ever guess. “I can hear spirits. Dead people.”

“Shut up! You cannot.”

“Yeah, I can.”

She paused for a long time. “Like who?”

“My grandmother Dora.”

Alex pulled me up so we were both standing. I winced at the pain in my knees. She crossed her arms and glared at me. “Your dead grandmother came back from the grave and is now talking to you?”

I nodded, knowing I sounded like a head case. “Honestly.”

“And what kind of wisdom does good old Bubby Dora have from the great beyond?”

“She wants me to help Dad find a wife.”

Alex fake gagged. “Ugh!”

“No kidding.”

She leaned back and looked at me intently. “Are you seriously not making this up?”

I crossed my heart.

“Lilah Bloom, that is totally messed.”

“Yeah, well, I thought maybe I'd dreamed it until just now.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I opened the door. There's a ton of people just inside, trying to talk to me.”

Alex pulled the door open a crack. The voices seeped out, so many of them talking at once that they were drowning out my consciousness.

“There's nobody there,” Alex said, opening the door a bit wider. Pushing past her, I pressed it closed and shook my head.

“This is not going to work. There's too many.”

“Too many what?”

“Voices. That's what I mean. My ability is back. And I think it's back with a vengeance.”

She looked up at the school. “So there are dead people in there who want to talk to you?”

I shrugged. “I guess so.”

“Freaky.”

“Very.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I have to go in.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “I have to, Alex, otherwise I'm going to flunk out.”

Alex rolled her eyes. “Uh, are you kidding me? You're going to be a rich TV medium. You don't need no education.”

“You're freaking hilarious. I'm going to tell them to back off.”

“You think that will work?”

“I have no idea; let's give it a go.”

Holding my breath, I grabbed the handle and opened the door. When the voices hit me I exhaled, straightened my spine, ignored how silly I felt, and said aloud, “I will
not
be speaking with any of you today. I am just returning to school and need some peace and quiet to catch up on my studies. I will address you when I'm good and ready!”

And just like that, the voices stopped.

Huh.

“‘Catch up on your studies'?”
Alex mocked me. “What is that all about?”

I shrugged and headed into the school.

First period (music), I was alone in one of the practice rooms, sitting at the drum kit with earphones on and my eyes closed, making an absolute massacre of my lesson. But as much as I was still kind of bad, I was definitely improving and was very pleased that I was able to follow the song better than I had even just the last time I practiced. It was coming more easily, like my hands were finally getting it.

I was about a third of the way into the song, drumming along with my eyes closed, when I felt a pressure on my arm. Startled, I threw my drumsticks in the air, narrowly missing my music teacher's head with one of them.

I pulled the earphones off my ears. “Oh no! Mr. Robertson, I'm so sorry!”