She narrows her eyes at him, then gives him a disdainful once over. He's tall and kind of scrawny, with a rumpled academia look that she'd seen pretentious kids at school wear, back when she went to school. There are scars dotting his skin like he's been through some shit, but he's not a ghost. Norah had told her most people here weren't.

"I asked you first," she points out, lifting an eyebrow as if to say 'I dare you to tell me I'm wrong.' She leans into every iota of teenage contempt she can manage. Whoever this guy is, he can't hurt her, and she's pretty sure that would still be true even if she weren't a ghost.