I knew something was wrong the moment nobody showed up to my funeral.

See, most of the time even if your dad hated you and your mom wished she'd never had you, they'd at least pretend to care.

No, they didn't even come.

I just laid in that stupid casket, the sun beaming into my eyes because the stupid priest gave me a GLASS ONE. Weren't funerals supposed to be rainy and sad? What a letdown.

For a couple hours I impatiently tapped my finger on my hand.

Then I got up and looked around. Nobody was there.

Goddammit.

Welp, that was just great.

I sighed heavily and stuck my hands in the pockets of my skirt. Fashion tip: always get skirts with pockets.

Now that upset me a little. Sure, skirts were nice and all, but I would've preferred to be buried in a suit.

Damn, I'd have to tell the priest to respect identities. Even if he did believe in God.

I walked around the graveyard, waving at a couple of dudes with 1980s rockstar hair and shirts that said 'Metallica'.

"Rock on!" I said, and high-fived them.

They smiled and inclined their heads.

Most ghosts aren't very social.

Then he came.

That head of rainbow-dyed hair. Those steel-grey eyes. Shaking hands. Tears. Sniffles. He hunched into himself and walked toward my casket.

Shit.

My body wasn't there. It was with me.

I jogged back to the glass coffin. Then wiggled into it.

Closed my eyes and folded my hands.

I heard crunching. Then his thin, wet voice reached my ears.

"Hey, Lin."

Lin. My heart squeezed at the nickname.

"I'm. . .so sorry."

Sorry? For what?

"Your parents refused to come. Said they didn't have time, nor the care for their son. Well, they said daughter, but you know what I mean."

Gotta love transphobic parents.

More silence.

"I hate them, you know. I never told you, but I hate your parents. And I love you. Already miss you."

He choked off.

I opened my eyes and saw his were closed and his body was racked with sobs.

Okay, I couldn't stand that. That had to change. Right now.

I lifted my hand up and buried my fingers in his hair. So cloud-like.

He looked up, startled.

"Lin---Linia?!"

I grinned. "Hey, Cory."

He stared at me in shock. "Wha. . .You're not dead?"

I sat up best I could in that cramped coffin. "Well, yes and no. I am dead, but I still have a somewhat physical form. So basically, I don't need air nor sleep nor food. Probably, I'm free from a bunch of other stuff, too."

He hugged me, burying his face in my neck.

I giggled 'cause it tickled. Nerves were one thing I still had, unfortunately.

He sobbed and I could feel his body shake.

"It's alright dude. I'm here."

"Thank god."

It was difficult to make out through the thickness in his voice, but in the end, I got it.

I patted his back. "Can I get out of this stupid glass confinement, now?"

He laughed. "Yes."

I climbed out of it and ruffled my hair. "Gotta get this cut again."

"Can ghosts get their hair cut?" Cory asked, wiping his eyes and nose with his sleeve.

I shrugged. "I'm a new ghost, so I don't know. But I absolutely have to get different clothes. These bother me so much."

He looked at the stupid black skirt and nodded. "I've got clothes at my place. C'mon."

I slipped my hand into his and we walked back to his house, hand-in-hand.

I plopped in Cory's desk chair and spun around, sucking on a juice box straw.

"Okay, so, you're saying my parents are in Rome, Italy, right now, at this very moment?" I asked.

Cory threw a shirt at me. "Yeah."

I caught it with ease, long used to his violent ways of handing someone clothing.

Next were the pants, which I did not catch so easily. They smacked me in the face.

I slumped against the chair and stuck my tongue out. "Bleh! I'm dead."

Cory chuckled. "Get your clothes on, you maniac."

I bounded up from the chair. "If I change, do I get another juice box?"

Cory sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Just get dressed."

"Aye aye, cap'n!" I saluted, then stripped my shirt off.

And remembered that I hadn't transitioned yet.

"Cory," I whispered, covering my chest with my shirt. "Do you have a binder?"

He didn't look (thank you, Cory) and waved his hand. "In the closet. I kept your old one."

I smiled. "Thanks."

He left and I found the binder. I put it on, then put my shirt and pants on.

I fixed my hair in the mirror, then pulled on some socks and found my way to Cory.

He was sitting on the couch, so I flopped down and put my head in his lap.

He looked down at me. "What?"

I grinned. "My juice box."

Cory frowned. "You know how to navigate a refrigerator, don't you?"

". . .Well, yes, now that you mention it." I got up and dug around in his fridge for a juice box. It didn't really take long to find one.

Then I sat next to Cory, close enough to make him glance over at me multiple times.

"Linia," he said. "Do we have to sit like this? There's plenty of room---"

"Yes," I said.

He didn't question it. Just put his arm around my shoulders.

I'm glad he didn't question it, because I wasn't ready to lay my heart out bare for him.

I finished my second juice box just as quick as the first. Then I laid against Cory, staring up at the ceiling.

He put his phone down and wrapped both arms around me. "What do you see up there?"

"A spider," I replied. Not a lie. I'd been watching the thing for half an hour.

"Eww," Cory said. "Hold on, I'll kill it."

I sat up. "Thank you. You're such a big strong man."

Cory gave me a flat look and retrieved the flyswatter.

He smacked the spider hard enough to break off three of its legs.

Then he cleaned it up and came back to me.

I leaned against him again, letting him hold me. Because sometimes we need someone to act as our glue in this world.

"Hey, Cory."

"Yeah?"

I fidgeted with my fingers. "Are you fine with me. . .staying the night?"

He sighed. "You can stay as long as you need to."

"Oh. Okay."

And that's when everything went downhill.