Preloved by Shirley Marr Page B

mattress.
    “Oh,” said Logan, understanding my expression.
    I sat down on the bed opposite Logan. “Oh shit, I’m not sitting on top of him am I?”
    “No, he just jumped off and left the room.”
    I looked towards the door, but I couldn’t see any indication that Mister Fozziebum was ever here.
    “Why can’t I see him? Why can I see you?” I wished I could see my dog. I missed him now more than ever. I wondered how many times he’d come into my room and I hadn’t known.
    “Can I please lie down?”
    Logan got off my bed and went to sit on my study chair. I climbed in, drew my legs up towards my body and hugged my pillow. I was too tired to want to change my clothes.
    “So how does your computer know more about how to be a ghost than I do?” asked Logan, looking at my laptop.
    “It’s the internet. You can find out about anything you want. As long as you don’t search for ‘how to build a bomb’ or ‘how to poison my parents’.”
    “So you can look me up on it?”
    “Yeah. But I’ll need some more information about you first. What’s your last name?”
    “I’m Logan … oh.”
    “Oh,” I prompted. “O’Hagan, O’Malley, Ol’ McDonald had a farm?”
    “I can’t remember my last name.”
    “What?”
    “Actually, I can’t remember a lot of things. Where I live. What type of person I am at school. What I want to be when I grow up. I just have this feeling that none of those things are supposed to matter any more and I’m here for one reason only. Except I can’t remember that reason either.”
    The glow of my computer screen made him seem blue.
    You don’t need to know who you used to be , I wanted to tell him. Just be how you are now. Stay. Stay and bug me. I kinda like it .
    But he looked so unhappy it broke my heart a little. I felt like a selfish little girl who wanted to keep the butterfly I’d found in my jam jar forever.
    “Tomorrow,” I said, and I swallowed, “I’ll think of a plan.”
    “Thank you, Amy.” Logan sighed. He took his hat off and put it on my desk. I thought it was weird that he could do that. What did I expect? That his hat was permanently attached to his head? I smiled to myself. He ran his fingers through his dark, slightly feathered hair. That was also weird. That his hand didn’t go right through his head.
    Hang on – I’ll tell you what’s weird: the fact that I was trying to apply the laws of physics on a ghost.
    I wanted to close my eyes and drift off to sleep thinking of him, but Logan was staring at me. So I stared back at him.
    “Hey, Logan,.” I said softly.
    “Yeah?”
    “Did you see The Princess Bride when it was at the cinema? It came out in 1987, so that would technically be last year for you.”
    “I did, actually,” Logan replied, and he leaned back in my chair. “I went with Stacey, because she wanted to see it. But I ended up really liking it.”
    I smiled and snuggled up in my pillow. That sounded romantic. I wished I was Stacey. I guess that was no different from sometimes wishing I was Rebecca.
    I yawned and reached up to turn off the light.
    “Goodnight,” I said, and I drew up my blanket.
    I found I was smiling. I wanted something nice to think about before I fell asleep. On most nights, all I could see before I drifted off was Dad growing smaller and smaller as I looked through the back of the car until I could see him no more.
    I realised I couldn’t sleep because I felt uncomfortable.
    “I should go hang outside,” said Logan.
    “Do you mind? You can have the couch. It’s comfy.” I was cringing a little. “Plus, you glow. Like, really bright.”
    “Goodnight, Miss Matey,” said Logan, getting up. He gave me a friendly smile.
    “Goodnight … Mr Matey,” I said under my breath. But Logan had already passed through my door and I don’t think he heard me.
    I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.
    In my dream I ran into Dad, and I was angry.
    I wanted to tell him he shouldn’t yell at Mum in front of