It turns out that my mother came barging into my room because one of the little boys in her first grade class ate a frog, of all things. She goes on about how being a teacher is tiring and frustrating at times and that I should always appreciate my teachers because they work so hard for me.

I'm more preoccupied with the fact that I was almost kissed by a dead boy again. A dead boy who I'm supposed to be helping find his killer. A dead boy who could have been killed by someone I go to school with, or anyone else in this damn town.

I nod to my mother as she continues to rant about Peter, the boy who ate the class pet. Apparently he didn't ingest it, he just held it in his mouth for a few seconds before deciding that frogs don't taste that great.

"So he spat it out onto the ground and caused about ten little girls to scream," she says. "I'm surprised the frog survived all of this. That little amphibian was a real trooper."

"I'm sure." I look over my shoulder out the window.

"Something wrong? You seem a little distracted."

I was kissed by a dead boy two nights ago!

"Nope," I say, quickly turning to look back at her. "I'm great."

She frowns, standing and walking over to me. She presses a palm to my forehead.

"You're really cold," she muses, furrowing her brow.

I was almost kissed by a dead boy right before you came in here!

"I was standing in front of the fridge deciding what to eat," I lie easily. She knows this is something I do when I'm indecisive about snack foods.

"Oh." She removes her hand. "Motherly worrying is all." She kisses my cheek. "I'm going to start on dinner."

I nod and she walks out of the room, conveniently forgetting to shut the door behind her.

I huff and walk over to close it.

I begin to think about what I heard at the library earlier today. Who was Max threatening? What does his father do? Why did he sound so malicious?

I grimace, realizing I don't know Max's last name so I can't Google him. I don't know his father's name, either, so that's a bust.

However, I know Harry's last name.

I grab my laptop from my desk and sit on my bed, turning it on and waiting for it to boot up.

I quickly pull up Google when it's done starting up.

Harry Styles, I type into the search bar.

Search results pop up shortly.

The first link is to what seems to be Harry's old Facebook page. Not knowing exactly what to expect, I click on it.

His profile picture is a photo of him with his arm around Ava, a satisfied smirk on Ava's red lips. His face is relaxed in an easy smile, his dimples showing. They look like they were dressed for some sort of formal event, with Harry in a black dress shirt and slacks and Ava in a thigh length red dress.

His last status update was from June 7, 2013. The day before he died.

The post is a reply to someone else's post to him from that same day.

Max Williams: Excited for the party mate!!

Harry Styles: Can't wait. It's going to be sick!

So there was a party on June seventh. Could something have happened there that led to Harry's death on the eighth?

I click onto Max's profile.

His picture is of him smiling pleasantly. Williams, that's his last name. I make a mental note to Google him later and try to find out about his father.

If there's anything I'm great at, it's Internet stalking.

I look through Max's recent posts which are mostly complaints about school or pictures of him with Nate, Adam, Jenna and the rest of the group. His profile looks like any other high school boy's.

I scroll down to his posts from June.

His last status from the month of June was his post to Harry. After that, he didn't post again until midway through August.

Peculiar.

I click back to Harry's profile.

There are tons of posts on his wall from right after his death.

They're all the same.

We miss you, Harry. Rest in peace.

We love you and miss you, Harry.

Our thoughts and prayers go out to you.

Miss you and love you.

RIP.

We love you so much, Harry.

It sickens me. I bet most of these people never even knew him. He was just the popular kid to them-the rich boy with the charming smile.

They say that nobody cares unless you're either pretty or dead.

Turns out that Harry is both.

Hot with anger, I click onto Harry's photos.

Most of them are him with his parents or him with Max. There are a few of him and Ava, too. He's always smiling widely, looking happy. The sad glint in his eye that he holds now as an apparition is not present in these old photos. The more I look through, the heavier my heart grows. I'm looking straight into what Harry's life was. It seemed so happy and joyous-loving parents, friends, a pretty girlfriend. What could have possibly gone wrong?

Those smiles hide secrets, my mind says. They can't all be innocent.

The more photos I look at and the more wall posts I read, the angrier I become. If people cared so much, why is his murder unsolved? Why is he stuck in the in between?

My eye catches on a certain post to Harry's wall.

We miss you lots, but you're in a better place now. RIP.

Better place? Nonsense. He's not in the afterlife yet. How could someone say that?

They don't know better, my conscience reminds me. They didn't have dead Harry explain the realms of the world to them.

Still, it's unfair. This is all unfair.

Life is unfair, that's true. But so is death.

I close out of the tab and put my head in my hands. My chest aches and the room is too hot. I don't know why looking into Harry's life makes me feel this way.

You want to be a part of his life, not his death. That's why.

I shut down my computer, my head hurting. I'll finish Internet stalking the people in Harry's past life another time.

-

I scan the cemetery for Harry's easily recognizable white sweater and dark pants.

He wasn't in the clearing, and he doesn't seem to be here, either. Other specters are, though-they sit in the grass or on gravestones, chatting quietly.

"Aren't you Jane?"

I'm startled by the sudden voice and look over to see Em. Her pale blonde hair is long and straight, cascading over her shoulders. She wears a light green dress and no shoes. She smiles slightly at me.

"Yeah," I say, nodding. "Is Harry here?"

She shakes her head. "He hasn't been here all day. I assumed he was with you."

I feel blush rising to my cheeks as I shake my head.

"Well, since you're here, why don't you come join us?"

I shrug. "I don't know, I could come back another time when Harry-"

"Nonsense. Anyone who is helping Harry is a friend to us."

She wraps thin fingers around my wrist and I feel the familiar deathly cold seep through my skin.

She tugs me through the graveyard to a small cluster of apparitions sat in a circle. She sits beside a boy that looks about six and pulls me to sit beside her.

All of the people in the small circle are young, no one older than me. They hold white daisies in their fingers that they were picking from the ground. All their eyes glue to me as Em and I sit.

"This is Jane," Em says. "She's the one helping Harry."

They all nod, seeming to recognize my name.

Is there some kind of gossip hotline in this damn graveyard?

"Jane, the pretty one?" The little boy next to Em asks.

I widen my eyes and blush, earning laughs from everyone else.

"Yes, Wesley, the pretty one." Em smiles at him.

Wesley grins at me as if he knows something I don't.

"Here," a girl with red hair says, handing me the start of a daisy chain. She looks only a bit younger than me. "We're making flower crowns."

Wesley holds his out to me, beaming. "Look, isn't it nice? I'm going to leave it in my mom's garden when I'm done. She gets so confused when she finds them, she never knows where they come from." He seems satisfied with this fact as he picks another flower from the ground.

I smile at him. He's adorable. So young, so pure.

I take the daisies from the redheaded girl and do as Em instructs me.

"See, you make a little incision beneath the bloom and lace another through it. Then you keep going from there until you've got a chain," she says, showing me on her own chain.

I nod and mimic her movements.

"So Jane," a girl with daisies in her hair says. She can't be older than fifteen. "You're the one helping Harry with his murder?"

"Uh, yeah," I say, trying to talk and make the daisy chain at the same time. "Yeah."

"Any luck so far?" The redhead asks.

I shrug. "Not much. Just a hollow wall in the old house."

"That could mean lots of things," another girl says, who looks seven.

"It's sealed up, though," I say. "And Harry can't walk through it."

"Odd," Em says.

An idea strikes me. "Hey, you all can walk through walls too, can't you?"

They all nod simultaneously.

"Why don't one of you try walking through it, then? To see what's behind it?" I ramble excitedly, setting my daisy chain in my lap.

They're silent.

I look from face to face confusedly. "What?"

The redhead clears her throat. "We would help," she says. "But we can't."

The girl with flowers in her hair nods. "As fellow beings stuck in the in between, we all must fulfill ourselves on our own, without help of other ghosts. You can help Harry because you're alive. We're unable to help anyone but ourselves when it comes to moving to the afterlife."

I frown. "Oh."

"We've tried helping each other," Em says. "But our attempts proved futile."

Wesley lets out a soft hum, shaking his head.

They're all so at ease with this, while I feel a sinking sadness in the pit of my stomach.

As I sit with the small group, I learn that the redhead's name is Yasmin, the girl with the flowers in her hair is Ellie, and the girl who looks to be seven is Madison. I'm intrigued to find that they talk and laugh like any living group of children. Wesley leans over and begins to put daisies in my hair, one by one.

"Harry was right," he says to me as he tucks a flower behind my ear. "You are pretty."

I blush and laugh, smiling at him.

"Well, you're very handsome," I say and he smiles bashfully at me.

I finish one flower crown and start on another, earning a satisfied smile from Em.

"Hey, what're you doing here?"

I turn around to see Harry standing by our small cluster.

"I was looking for you," I tell him as he sits down beside me. "And decided to stay to make flower crowns."

"Hi Harry!" Wesley says.

"Hi, Wes," Harry greets him, smiling.

"Where've you been, Harry?" Madison asks.

"Up to see my parents." He frowns. It must be so hard for him to see his parents the way they are. My heart sinks slightly.

"Don't think about that," Em says, interrupting my thoughts. "Make a flower crown."

I reach forward and pick up my finished daisy crown. "Here," I say, turning and placing it in his hair. "You can wear this one that I made."

He smiles at me. "Thanks."

I nod, smiling back.

He leans forward and picks a daisy from the grass. "Now I feel indebted to you," he says, poking a hole in it as Em showed me before. "I've got to make you one."

"No!" Wesley says. "I already put flowers in her hair!"

"There's no such thing as too many flowers," Harry says, continuing his chain. "And I happen to make the best flower crowns around."

"No, I do," Wesley says.

"Alright, second best, then."

"Third best. Jane's better than you."

Harry's jaw drops and I laugh.

"Wesley," Harry mock scolds him. "What happened to our friendship?"

"Jane is pretty and nice," Wesley singsongs, picking another flower and tucking it into my hair. "And she's got long hair to put daisies in."

I smirk at Harry.

He shakes his head, laughing. "Looks like Wesley's got a little crush."

"You're one to talk, Harry," Yasmin scoffs.

"Yeah, Harry," Ellie seconds.

Em just laughs.

Harry looks away and everyone laughs.

Fifteen minutes and a myriad of daisies later, Harry is done with my crown.

He sets it gently on my head, careful not to disturb the flowers already there from Wesley. "There," he says. "Now we're even."

The group grows restless soon and disbands across the graveyard, leaving only Harry and I sitting in the grass.

"I think Wes is right," Harry says, picking up an unfinished chain I had set on the ground beside me. "You do make some kick ass daisy chains."

I smile. "Beginner's luck."

We are silent for a few moments. I watch Wesley and Yasmin begin to play tag.

"Harry," I whisper, looking over at him. "How did Wesley die?"

"He was born with a lot of cardiac problems," Harry says. "Turns out, as hard as it tried, his heart couldn't beat past age six."

A lump forms in my throat. "He told me he leaves daisy chains in his mother's garden."

"He does," Harry says. "To try to get her to forgive herself for taking him off life support."

I watch Wesley take Yasmin's hand as they talk, his young features light and content.

"They're so young," I say.

Harry nods, his jaw clenched. "When you die, you are reverted to the age where you were happiest. Most people here are young. Look around."

My eyes scan the cemetery, and I see that he's right. Not many of the ghosts are much older than Harry and me.

I take a breath, pulling grass between my fingers. "Do you..." I clear my throat. "Do you think that if I had gone through with...killing myself...that I would have ended up here?"

"In the in between?"

I nod.

Harry chews on his bottom lip. "I don't know," he answers. "I guess it depends on what you're leaving behind."

I nod, looking down.

"Stop frowning," he says. "You can't frown when you've got that many daisies in your hair."

I look up at him and a smile spreads across my face. "Then you stop frowning, too," I say and he laughs, reaching a hand up to touch his flower crown.

"Fair enough." He shoots me the widest and cheesiest smile I've ever seen and I laugh with him. I pluck a daisy and put it in his hair, behind his ear. He does the same, putting more and more flowers in his dark curls.

I find myself wondering what age I would be reverted to if I were to die. When was I most happy?

I look at Harry, who picks another flower to put in his hair.

Now. I'm most happy right now.