I'm sure you've seen lots of movies and TV series and maybe even reality heroine, Suze Simon: so-called “mediators” who can communicate. Meg Cabot - The Mediator - 1 - Shadowland Shadowland (The Mediator, Book 1) Meg Cabot - The Princess Diaries 02 - Princess In The Spotlight. Meg Cabot - The Mediator - 1 - Shadowland · Read more Haunted (The Mediator, Book 5) · Read more Ninth Key (The Mediator, Book 2). Read more.
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HARPERCOLLINSPUBLISHERS CONTENTS Title page Dedication Acknowledgments Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter Author: Meg Cabot. Love You to Death. The Mediator (Series). Book 1. Meg Cabot Author (). cover image of Love You to Death. Love You to Death. The Mediator (Series). Read “The Mediator #1: Shadowland”, by Meg Cabot online on Bookmate – Suze is a mediator — a liaison between the living and the dead. In other words, she.
Proposal by Meg Cabot. The last place Suze Simon expects to find herself… More. Shelve Proposal. Book 7. Remembrance by Meg Cabot. You can take the boy out of the darkness. But you… More. Shelve Remembrance. Book I can see ghosts. I can talk to ghosts.
And, if n… More. The original sassy and spooky series from the que… More. Meet Susannah Simon: The Princess Diaries. Heather Wells. Queen of Babble. Elderly emergency patients presenting with non-specific complaints: Characteristics and outcomes.
Children's Book and Media Review , Oct Whitney Troxel. A PDF file should load here. If you do not see its contents the file may be temporarily unavailable at the journal website or you do not have a PDF plug-in installed and enabled in your browser.
This is a preview of a remote PDF: The Mediator 1: Shadowland , Children's Book and Media Review, ,. Toggle navigation. See also The Mediator 2: The Constitution, Defamation Plaintiffs, and Pseudonymous Internet Defendants Elderly emergency patients presenting with non-specific complaints Susannah Simon, or Suze to everyone but a select few, is not your average teenage girl.
She's a mediator, which means she can see and speak to ghosts. However, Suze hopes moving across the country to live with her new step-family could be the start of a new, ghost-free life. He raised his eyebrows all questioningly, as if to say, "May I be of service?
She flipped her honey-blonde hair back so she could slip on her headphones. To eat before the dance, I mean. She knew perfectly well. But she was going to make me say it. Kelly looked over the partition between us, her pretty face twisted with sympathy. Fake sympathy, of course. Or anyone, except herself. Nobody asked you? Except, possibly, her not being taken by anyone at all. I turned on my tape player.
Dominique immediately began to complain to Michel about herdormitoire. What had just happened, I mean. Wait a minute. Wasthat what was going on? Paul was finally getting tired of hanging around with a girl he had to blackmail into spending time with him? Well, good. I mean, if Kelly wanted him, she could have him. Because it had felt good—his weight, his warmth—despite my fear.
Really good. Right sensation. But the right guy? And warmth? The warmth thing, I mean. Still, this asking-Kelly-to-the-dance-and-not-me thing. Except that now I had a sinking feeling that Paul had just lobbed a ball into my court that I was never going to be able to hit back.
What was that all about? The words floated before my eyes, scrawled on a piece of paper torn from a notebook, and were waved at me from over the top of the wooden partition separating my carrel from the one in front of it.
I pulled the piece of paper from the fingers clutching it and wrote,Paul asked Kelly to the Winter Formal , then slid the page over the partition. A few seconds later, the paper fluttered back down in front of me. I thought he was going to ask you!!! I guess not, I scribbled in response. I mean, what about Jesse? But that was just it. Whatabout Jesse? Whatever that meant. Not just someone else, either, but Kelly Prescott, the prettiest, most popular girl in school.
Yes, she knew about Jesse. But Paul? And I wanted to keep it that way. Whatever, I scrawled. How about you? Adam ask you yet? I felt, rather than saw, that a certain gaze was very much on me. I would not, however, give him the satisfaction of glancing his way.
Car crash? He, um, choked. Really, Susannah," Father Dom chided me. Poetic justice! Instead, I said, "Too bad. So how long will you be gone? This weekend the annual antique auction would be taking place. Donations had been flooding in all week and were being stashed for safekeeping in the rectory basement. The number is—" "I know the number, Father D," I reminded him. Oh, and if you would, make sure that Spike has enough food—" "Nuh-uh," I said, backing away.
It was the first time in a long time that my wrists and hands were free of angry red scratches, and I wanted to keep it that way. Anything else? All taken care of. Still, temperatures in the seventies or not, I shivered. No, it was a cold that came from inside that was causing the goose bumps on my upper arms.
Because, beautiful as the Mission gardens were, there was no denying that beneath those glorious petals lurked something dark and. It was true. The guy had the ability to cause even the brightest day to cloud over. At least, as far as I was concerned. After his somewhat rocky start to the school year, Paul had ended up not having nearly as much regular contact with the school principal as I did. Which, given that all three of us are mediators, might seem a little strange.
But both Paul and Father D seem to like it that way, each preferring to keep his distance, with me as a go-between when communication is absolutely necessary. But there it was. Obviously, Paul preferred to keep Father D in the dark about his after-school activities, knowing that the priest was hardly likely to approve of them. Take the Gutierrez incident, for instance. A ghost had come to us for help and Paul, instead of doing the right thing, had ended up stealing two thousand dollars from her.
This was not something Father Dominic would have turned a blind eye to, had he known about it. Father D, I mean. Because if I did—if I told Father Dominic anything that might make Paul seem less than the straight-A-getting jock he was pretending to be—what had happened to Mrs.
Gutierrez was going to happen to my boyfriend.
Or, you know, the guy who would be my boyfriend. Paul had me, all right. Right where he wanted me. Well, maybe not exactlyright where he wanted me, but close enough.
Oh, a person who acts as a liaison between the living and the dead. Hey, wait a minute. Gutierrez a decent funeral and enough money for her loved ones to pay off some of her debt. What could I do but swallow and nod? Father Dominic eyed me unhappily. Because you will have to say good-bye to him one day, Susannah. Particularly the little-known fact that mediators can bring the dead back to life. There was just one little fly in the ointment: At least, not ones willing to sacrifice the soul currently occupying them.
Then he pinned me with a meaningful stare. He walked away, shaking his head, without even bothering to reply. Well, more or less. He has an uncanny ability to discover the truth on his own.
Not, of course, that it means what I tell him is the strictest truth. It seems safer that way. And it definitely seemed safer not to let Paul know that Father Dominic was in San Francisco, with no known date of return.
Last night? Succubuses, I mean. I bet Kelly only needs an hour or two of shut-eye a night, tops. I prided myself that I was maintaining—outwardly, anyway—a supremely indifferent attitude about the whole thing. Inside, of course, it was a whole other story. It was amazing how none of this showed, however.
At least, so far as I knew. It was hard to meet his gaze sometimes, it was so penetrating, so. His gaze on my face was unwavering. The book Paul had pulled out for our latest "mediator lesson" was so old, the pages had a tendency to crumble beneath my fingers as I turned them.
The Book of the Dead was what it was called. It smelled as if a mouse or some other small creature had gotten slammed between the pages some time in the notso-distant past, left to slowly decompose there. Granted, it was only once a week, but that was more than enough, believe me. If anything, the place was as creepy as ever. Slater—or Dr. Slaski, as the good doctor himself had confided to me he was really named—like the plague. Despite my less-than-inspired performance, however, Paul released my hand and leaned back once more, looking extremely pleased with himself.
The half smile Paul had been wearing vanished. His face was as expressionless as the wall behind him. I had no idea what he was talking about. And when I do. I just stared at him, genuinely taken aback. I had no idea where this was coming from. What was going on? Is this. Instead, I waited, my heart in my throat, for him to reply.
And letting me off the hook for the Winter Formal. And now this. I like that. I might even use it myself someday. Strange, but true. I never thought of myself as the captain-of-thetennis-team type. I want to go to the Winter Formal. It landed with a clatter in the stainless-steel sink. If anything happens to him," I hissed, not much louder than the soda fizzing from the can in the sink, but with a lot more force, "anything at all, I will make you regret the day you were born.
Or maybe he did, since his lips relaxed into a smile—the same smile that had made half the girls in school fall madly in love with him. Slaski—or Slater, as Paul referred to him—never said hello. At least, not when anybody but me was around.
His head was slumped down onto his chest, as if he were asleep. He was no more asleep than I was. Inside that battered and frail-looking exterior was a mind crackling with intelligence and vitality.
Mealtime is family time at my house. I was more than ready to go. Our ride should have been a lot more enjoyable than it was. The sun was setting, seeming to set the sky ablaze, and you could hear waves breaking rhythmically against the rocks below.
But you could have cut the tension inside that car with a knife, nonetheless. Seeing as how it had been built at the turn of the century—the nineteenth, not the twentieth—it needed a lot of refurbishing. I was about to get out of the car without a word when Paul reached over and put a hand on my arm. What would you say to a truce? Was he kidding? And now he wanted to kiss and make up? Well, basically. Besides, what could I do to your boy Jesse?
Not now, anyway. Can you blame me for wanting to take someone who. Maybe it was the way he blinked those baby blues. I, er, need it. The rich smell of burning wood filled the crisp evening air, tinged with the scent of something else.
It was tandoori chicken night. How could I have forgotten? Behind me, I heard Paul throw the car into reverse and drive away. I headed up the stairs to the front door, stepping into the squares of light thrown onto the porch from the living room windows. Because home meant something else to me now, and had for quite a while. I looked around, worried someone might have heard. He appeared almost at once, not at the window, but by my side.
They never have to worry about the stairs. Or walls. There were dark pools in the place where his eyes should have been, and the scar in his eyebrow—a dog bite wound from childhood—showed starkly white.
Still, even with the tricks the moon was playing, he was the best-looking thing I had ever seen. I heard you calling. Called him. But whatever. As usual, they were darkly liquid and full of intelligence.
It was chilly enough that when I spoke, I could see my breath fog up in front of me. Because, of course, he has no breath. Now hedefinitely looked amused. At least, not exactly. Well, notonly because I was cold. I closed my eyes, melting in his embrace as I always did, reveling in the feel of his strong arms around me, his hard chest beneath my cheek.
I always seem to have that problem. Unlike some people. I did balk a little when I saw where he had led me, though. And itwould be a lot warmer. He seized both my hands as I tried to slip them around his neck, and placed them firmly in my lap. I sighed and stared out the windshield. Big Sur, maybe.
The Winter Formal, definitely. But the rectory parking lot at the Junipero Serra Mission? Not so much. When he saw my expression, however, he pulled his hand back. Him ," he said in an entirely different voice. My agreement with Paul, for instance: Jesse would not have been particularly enthused had he known of the lessons. There was no love lost between Jesse and Paul, whose relationship had been rocky from the start. Of course, their mutual disdain for each other might also have had something to do with me.
Back before Jesse had come into my life, I used to sit around and fantasize about how great it would be to have two guys fighting over me. In fact, it was completely wrong. To you. Remember Mrs. Also the thing Paul had said earlier in the day, about how his plans for Jesse were more humane than my own plans for himself. He was going to. I think he said he was going to keep you from having died in the first place. I seriously think he might be up to something. Or at least his continued presence in this dimension.
The only thing that seems as if it might put the fire out is pressing myself closer to him. I felt his hand move along the waistband of my jeans as we kissed. Our tongues entwined, and I knew it was only a matter of time until that hand slipped beneath my sweater and up toward my bra. Then, my eyes closed, I did a little exploration of my own, running my palms along the hard wall of muscles I could feel through the cotton of his shirt.
It occurred to me that we would be able to do this—kiss like this, I mean—a lot more often and more conveniently if Jesse would get over the absurd idea that he has to stay with Father Dominic, now that we are, for want of a better word, an item. Of the female variety.
I mean, who knows if maybe he really has come up with some new way to. And now, with Father Dom gone for who knows how long, I. I knew that any second he was going to disappear. But there was still something else I needed to know. He had begun to dematerialize, but now he looked solid again. And truthfully? I probably was. Why do you ask? For school? He took the bag from me. And then he was gone. Walden held up a stack of Scantron sheets and said, "Number-two pencils only, please.
Walden, this is an outrage. And, apparently, aptitude testing. Walden, our homeroom teacher and class advisor, began passing out the Scantron sheets.
Just answer the questions. Walden slapped a pile of answer sheets onto my desk for me to pass down my row. And no talking. Walden demanded, "do you people not understand? Until Mr. Now, shut up, all of you, and get to work. Miserably, I filled in the little bubbles. My fate is already laid out for me. And any other career I choose is just going to get in the way of my true calling, which is, of course, helping the undead to their final destinations.
I glanced over at Paul. He was bent over his Scantron sheet, filling in the answer bubbles with a little smile on his face. I wondered what he was putting down as fields of interest. Or felony theft. Why, I wondered, was he even bothering? We were always going to be mediators first, whatever other careers we might choose. Look at Father Dominic. Oh sure, he had managed to keep his mediator status a secret.
He really believes that his ability to see and speak to the dead is gift from God. The little blank bubbles in front of me grew decidedly blurry as my eyes filled up with tears. Oh, great. Now I was crying. But how could I help it? Here I was, my future laid out in front of me. Well, you know, pseudo-career, since we all know what myreal career was going to be. But what about Jesse? What future didhe have? I reached up and dabbed at my eyes with the sleeve of my Miu Miu shirt.
Jesse, I mean. Because I already knew all of that. Things were tough, I guess, even way back in the s. It was different then, Susannah. I was different. I did think. It made perfect sense—at least to me. Just because of your dad? I could barely be spared from the ranch for a few days, let alone the years medical school would have taken.
But I would have liked that, I think. Medical school. It would be more exciting to work in the sciences now, I think. But rather than clinging stubbornly to the past, as some would have, Jesse had followed along excitedly, reading whatever he could get his hands on, from paperback novels to encyclopedias.
He said he had a lot to catch up on. My stepdad, on the other hand, is more the cookbook type. But you get my drift. To Jesse, stuff that seems dry and uninteresting to me is vitally exciting. Sighing, I looked down at the hundreds of career options in front of me.
And here I was, with every advantage in the world, and all I could think that I wanted to be when I grew up was. Well, with Jesse. It was a constant source of wonder and interest to me. Only unlike Jesse, I actually had a chance todo something with my interest. Walden announced, startling me again.
Ten more minutes. I looked down at my answer sheet, which was half empty. At the same time, I noticed CeeCee shooting me an anxious look from her desk beside mine. She nodded to the sheet. Get to work , her violet eyes urged me. I picked up my pencil and began to haphazardly fill in bubbles.
Without Jesse, Ihad no future. Of course, with him, I had no future, either. What was he going to do, anyway? Follow me to college? To my first job? My first apartment? Paul was right. Stupid to have fallen in love with a ghost. Stupid to think we had any kind of future together. Walden pulled his feet from the top of his desk. Then pass your answer sheets to the front. Walden had dismissed us for lunch. Because my dad was everything that was good. And Paul is everything that. So long as you can find a precedent.
I could easily see Paul as a lawyer. I was thinking more along the lines of a social worker. Or a therapist. It was the reason I was so bleary-eyed and tired today. Not about Paul, but about what Paul had made me read aloud earlier that day: The fourth dimension. The very word caused the hairs on my arms to stand up, even though it was another typically beautiful autumn day in Carmel and not cold at all. Could it really be true? Was such a thing even possible?
Could mediators—or shifters, as Paul and his grandfather insisted on calling us— travel through time as well as between the realms of the living and the dead? And if—a big if—itwere true, what on earth did itmean? More important, why had Paul been so intent on making sure I knew about it? Trouble sleeping? Suddenly, I was just very tired of Paul and his games.
And I decided to call him on the latest one. Took you long enough. We were standing in the shade of the breezeway, it was true, but just a few feet away in the Mission courtyard, the sun was blazing down. Hummingbirds flitted from hibiscus blossom to hibiscus blossom. Tourists snapped away with their digital cameras.
So what was up with the goose bumps? You act like it was two million. Kelly, though stung, nevertheless pulled herself together enough to send me a withering glance before heading for the yard where we dined daily, al fresco. Big deal. Gutierrez and her two thousand dollars? Even in some small way? And you know what? I think this time, your boy Jesse is going to agree.
With me. Please please please please.
In any case, Dr. Sort of. Except that he had. And it had only been a few months ago. I wasthat desperate.
Desperate for answers that I knew only one person on earth could give me. And that person was just right upstairs. I guess. Itwas lunchtime. Narc on me, doubtlessly.
It seemed to be his one joy in life. Sadly, I never seem able to return the favor, thanks to Brad generally having some kind of goods on me. As usual, the Game Show Network was on.