 
THE GRAVITY SERIES

BOOK 1

~ GRAVITY ~

Smashwords Edition by Abigail Boyd

Copyright ©2012 Abigail Boyd

http://abigailboyd.blogspot.com

http://www.boydbooks.com

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No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the author, except for use in review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
PROLOGUE

**I REMEMBER MOST** of my fourteenth year in fragments, but one night stands out as clearly as the first star after dusk.

I'd been so full of questions that day I couldn't help but burst. Perched on my bed, feeling helpless, I watched as my best friend Jenna primped in front of my full-length mirror.

"What do you mean you're going out?" I asked.

"The words have one meaning, Ariel," Jenna said impatiently. "Not difficult to understand." She wouldn't make eye contact with me, too obsessed with getting the details of her face perfect.

School had ended two weeks ago, so we were officially no longer freshmen. But our friendship had eroded during the school year, in ways I would never have predicted.

Jenna and I had been best friends ever since we fought over a plastic pony ranch in kindergarten. In the last few months she had started to drift away from me, as though the invisible tie that held us together had been cut.

The day started warm, holding steady in the low eighties. Good weather for going out, yet Jenna hadn't wanted to do anything until nightfall. Once the sun went to sleep, the temperature plummeted. After a flurry of texting random people, she told me she'd made plans, but wouldn't elaborate.

Jenna still wore the day's short-shorts, her tanned legs bare below the scanty acid wash denim. A purple tank top draped from her slender shoulders.

"It's after ten," I protested. My pleading sounded pitifully like a whine.

"I'll be fine. I'm only running out, not spending the night lying on the grass," Jenna snapped, gritting her teeth. Her back was to me and I watched her flipped reflection roll its eyes.

"I'm just worried about you," I said meekly, kneading my hands in my lap. My voice sounded high and childish. I'd never fretted about looking immature in front of her before. She'd witnessed many of my awkward coming-of-age moments, but now embarrassing myself was all I could think about.

She whirled her curly hair into a ponytail, then let it fall, scrutinizing her image. She had already applied her dress-to-impress makeup: a double-layer of mascara and black eyeshadow.

"I thought we were going to hang out," I said. I felt like a kid losing a battle for a new toy. "We've been planning this since the last week of school. Going to Rollerama, remember? I've hardly seen you..."

"You know I don't make plans."

"But..."

"We always hang out," she said, fidgeting with her clothes. "I think it's about time for a break from each other, don't you? Absence makes us irritate each other less."

"Do you have a new boyfriend?" It was the first thing I thought of.

"What if I do?" she asked cryptically.

"Lately you've been going through boys like water." Mostly the allergic to authority types that her parents would never approve of.

Jenna snorted in response, gathering her makeup and wallet and stuffing them in her pockets.

"What's happening to you? I feel like I don't even know you anymore," I said, not able to stop myself. Tears threatened to spill from my watering eyes, and I opened them wider to stop the flood.

She glared at me, her blue eyes icy with contempt. I'd never seen her look at me with so much disdain. My brain flickered quickly through the list of horrible things I could have done.

"I don't have time for this," she growled, stomping out of my room and down the hallway.

I followed her out, as if on a loyalty leash. My room was located in our house's basement, one of several rooms that split off from the hallway, leading to an open common area. She made a beeline for the outside doors. Feelings of helplessness tumbled through me like flecks in a snow globe.

I stubbed my toe and bit down on my lip as pain radiated through my foot. Jenna's hand already rested on one of the door handles. She'd be gone in a second. Her impending exit felt so final. Even though she'd told me she'd only be gone for a few hours, it felt like we were saying goodbye.

"Remember your sweatshirt, it's getting cold." My voice cracked like a prepubescent boy's. Jenna always complained about being chilly, always crept close to bonfires to warm her frigid knees.

Her responding sigh was drawn out and exaggerated. I was the dampener on her good time. Grabbing the sweatshirt, she whipped her arms through the oversized sleeves, flopping the hood above her hair.

"Anything else you need, mom?" When I didn't reply, her impatient fist wrenched the door open. A tear escaped and rolled down my cheek. I wiped it away quickly with the back of my hand. Sharp pressure filled my chest, all the hurt that her rejection inflicted.

"Stop acting like a baby," she commanded sharply, bracing herself against the door frame. A tiny black heart was painted on each fingernail, the short pointy nails like talons at the ends of her curved fingers. "I'll be back before midnight. You'll never even miss me."

Jenna swung into the night without hesitation, not bothering to shut the door, propelling warm air in behind her.

She made sure I heard her final words. "I won't miss you."

I waited for her all night in my room, finally drifting in and out of sleep. She never came back.

CHAPTER 1

**FIFTEEN CANDLES SET** the top of the cake on fire. Another year disappeared.

"Make a wish, Ariel," my mother, Claire, whispered beside me. I sucked in all the breath my lungs could hold and blew the candles out. I wished for my year back.

Claire clapped politely, joined by my father, Hugh, and my Aunt Corinne. My family was holding a small birthday party for me at home, in the house I'd grown up in. Just us, since no one from school had responded to the phone invitations Claire had scrambled to make at the last minute.

Ugly brown-and-yellow polka dot hats sat atop everyone's heads. The party theme was birthday clearance sale. The hats and matching napkins were the extent of the decorating.

Claire stepped in to cut the cake, piled high with thick, purple-tinted frosting. Her engraved silver cake server glinted as she scooped tiny slivers onto her good china plates.

My mother was all business at work and home, where she saw herself as the person missing in the pictures of a glossy design magazine. She was the invisible hand that fluffs embroidered pillowcases and sets the perfect table.

I'm her plain, too-ordinary daughter, who sometimes smudges makeup beneath my hazel eyes and doesn't realize it for hours. Once I walked around school all day with gum on the seat of my pants. No one told me until I got home.

"Honey, there are four people here," Hugh said gently. "Who exactly are we saving cake for?"

Her smile pressing into a red line, Claire added an extra sliver to each plate.

"Take a seat," she told us, but nobody did.

Instead, we huddled around the dining room table, picking at our cake. I bit down on the white plastic fork, tasting food dye and sugar. The strap of my party hat dug insistently into my chin.

Hugh was avoiding eye contact with Claire and her sister, as the twins fought the urge to argue. Claire and Corinne exchanged pleasantries, but I could feel the undercurrent of sibling malice beneath their banal words.

Ever since I could talk, my parents insisted I refer to them by their first names. They thought it was better to be friendly individuals, instead of controlling a dictatorship. Too bad that went completely opposite of how overprotective they were. It was as though they couldn't make up their minds as to how they wanted to parent, so they just ripped a page out of every parenting book ever written.

It's not like I was a bad kid. At worst, a weird one. Truthfully, all my life I've been a bit strange, with an interest in the macabre. When I was seven, I made a shoebox diorama about the Donner Party, complete with tiny clay body parts and half a bottle of red food coloring. The teacher safety-pinned a note to my backpack, asking Claire if we had any trouble at home. It's pasted in one of her scrapbooks.

My family members engaged in small talk, the weather and local politics. Trying to pretend no one was missing and we were whole. Why the formality of a birthday party seemed necessary to my mother, I didn't know. But I would have done anything to make her happy and therefore get her off my back, even if it was just for a few hours.

"I need to be getting home soon," Aunt Corinne said, shifting from foot to foot.

"You don't have to keep reminding us," Claire said under her breath.

"I just wanted to let you know." Corinne glared unabashedly at Claire, who glared right back.

"Yes, and that was the fifth time." To me, Claire said, "I'm sure you're ready for gifts."

"Yeah, that's the best part," I said, faking enthusiasm.

We shifted as a unit to the modest, cheerfully wrapped pile on the sterile kitchen counter. I was impatient, just wanting the whole ordeal over. Celebrating was the last thing on my mind.

I'd woken up that morning without the birthday jitters that normally accompanied the red circle on the calender. Instead, the atmosphere felt off. Normal things I saw every day looked different, as though I was seeing through contact lenses with a too-strong prescription. Just by a fraction, but that fraction was enough.

Putting it down to being older, I tried to ignore the feeling. I seemed to be the only one who noticed anything amiss.

"Start with mine," Claire instructed, pushing an oblong box into my hand. I tore off the shimmery lilac gift wrap and lifted the lid. Inside lay an old-fashioned rectangular pendant on a silver chain. I held the green stone up to catch the choppy, bright light from the ceiling fan.

"This isn't a real emerald, is it?" I asked. Facets had been cut into the stone, giving it depth like the bottom of a deep pool.

"No, just costume," Claire explained. "That necklace belonged to Grandma Eleanor. I've been keeping it in my jewelry box until I felt the time was right."

"Thanks, it's really beautiful." I laid it carefully back on its strip of cotton. Too formal for school, but lovely nonetheless. Giving me an heirloom like that was a huge deal to her, a sign that she thought I was maturing. I caught a glimpse of Corinne, whose squinting eyes and tight lips made her appear jealous.

"Just promise me you'll keep it safe," Claire insisted. I could practically hear the little voice in her head wondering if giving me the necklace was a bad idea.

"I won't let anything happen to it. Promise."

"I know you miss grandma as much as I do." Claire pushed a stray, black strand of hair out of my eyes. I'd barely seen my grandma in the last year of her life. It meant a lot to me to have something that belonged to her.

"We all miss Mom," Corinne interjected, as if it were a best daughter contest. Even though their mom was no longer alive to receive handmade cards or runaway threats scribbled in crayon.

We raced through the rest of the gifts as if to beat a timer. Before I knew it, Corinne was throwing on her mustard yellow scarf and matching boots, and kissing me goodbye on the cheek. We exchanged a sterile hug.

"Happy birthday. Enjoy them while you can," she advised.

My parents walked her out to her minivan. I heard her brakes squeak as she lurched out of the driveway.

Claire returned and started cleaning up the leftover dishes. The remnants of the gathering appeared discarded and sad now that the guests had deserted. Only Hugh had managed to eat his cake. I watched him out the back door, rolling the lawnmower back into the shed.

Stacking the dirty plates on her arms like a waitress, Claire breezed into the kitchen and deposited them in the soap-filled sink. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes distant, like she was watching a play inside her head.

"Do you want any help?" A heavy melancholy had settled over me, the kind I used to feel as a kid the day after Christmas. After all the buildup had abruptly ended, and all that was left was crumpled wrapping paper and gifts that soon grew boring or broke.

"Of course not. It's your birthday. You just sit back and relax." She opened the dishwasher and started filling the top rack.

"I think I'm going to take a nap, actually. I had a hard time getting to sleep last night."

"Okay. I'll try to keep it down."

In the living room, I pulled the curtains shut and laid down on the couch. More tired than I'd initially realized, I curled up on the puffy gray cushions. Heaviness settled over me and my racing thoughts slowed down as I drifted off.

###

I awoke with a jolt. A thunderous boom cracked through my head, splitting my eardrums. I sat up, hitting the coffee table with my shin as my legs swung out.

The sound came from outside. With my brain still half-asleep, I turned and yanked the curtains aside. A figure stood alone across the street. Fear seized my senses, flushing out any logical thought. I didn't know why I was so afraid, but I couldn't help it. There was no obvious threat, but something was very wrong.

I rubbed my eyes, trying to focus, still fighting off sleepiness. My vision wasn't blurry; the figure itself was hazy, not quite solid at the edges.

I opened the front door, stepping onto the porch. The air snapped at my skin, surging with electrical charge, like before a thunderstorm. I glanced across the road.

The clothes were my first indication. Jenna still wore the same yellow hoodie, jean shorts, and purple flip-flops as the last night I'd seen her in June. The night she walked out and never came back.

I stopped on the grass, not realizing I had continued off of the relative safety of the porch. Jenna stood mere yards away, still as stone. For a moment, I felt nothing. Not the relief I had expected. No shock. Neither of us moved, nor said a word. We just stared, her features flat like a mask.

And then she began to run.

My instincts screamed to stay put. That nagging feeling that something was wrong with what I was witnessing. But without considering the consequences, I started running too.

The street was deserted and time held still in a peculiar twilight. Purple clouds raced across the sky, their cold bellies fat with out-of-season snow. I couldn't find the sun. I must have slept longer than I thought.

Every breath rattled through my chest, catching between my ribs. My frantic footsteps hit the pavement, beating a tattoo that filled my ears like drums.

"Wait!" I tried to shout, but it came out in a gasp.

She didn't hear me, or didn't care. Up ahead, the road dead-ended but that didn't stop her. She flew in between the giant trunks of the shaggy hickory trees that bordered the woods. Like a flitting butterfly, she was getting away. And I had no way to catch her, no net.

So I followed her into the woods.

Unseen dangers threatened me in the dark. Sharp sticks scratched my bare arms below my t-shirt sleeves. A branch whipped across my cheek, leaving a welt. I could feel the blood drawing to the surface: a hot, wet spot. It was as if the trees were trying to hold me back.

Jenna stood out as a bright smear, flickering through the leaves and branches ahead. She had been the star on the school track team, their fastest runner. I had nowhere near that kind of stamina, especially after a summer wasted in front of the TV, feasting on a diet of processed crap.

I knew if I lost sight of her, she'd be gone forever. That thought kept me going, as every breath burned, and my legs threatened to give out.

A clearing appeared ahead, past an archway of clinging, bowed branches. She ducked swiftly through them and went out of sight. Panic swelled in me—I'd lost her. Defeat threatened to swallow me alive, a fish in the mouth of a whale.

But as I came out through the archway, I glimpsed her again. She stood before a huge, wrought iron fence. A dirt road wound in between us, black as if wet with rain.

The unnatural purple had spread through the sky, and the wind blew my long hair, rushing into my face. Trees formed a leafy wall on my side of the road. I ran my hand over the leaves; no sign of the space we'd come through remained.

Jenna pulled open the towering gate and raced onto the property beyond. The gate slammed shut with a deafening clunk. I ran across the street, barely checking for cars since I knew we were alone. At that moment, Jenna and I were the the only two people left in the world.

I collided with the gate, the impact raising welts on my chest. Wrapping my fingers around the solid bars, I tried yanking the gate open. It seemed to be locked: rattling, but not budging. A copper symbol was welded into the center of the ornate iron design. It resembled a bundle of sticks tied together.

Frustration rushed into my throat, threatening to roar out. I stepped back and surveyed the fence, but there was no break in the endless duplication of iron bars. No way in.

"Jenna, why are you doing this?" I yelled. But the question was swallowed by the rushing wind. It picked up even more speed, whirling the dried leaves and dust in the road into miniature tornadoes.

Only then did I notice the decrepit, vast building that Jenna was quickly making her way up to. It was the Dexter Orphanage, an abandoned monument on the west side of town. She leaped up the stairs to the entrance.

I leaned my face into the bars, reaching my arm out so far it hurt. She might as well have been miles away. She peered over her shoulder and we locked eyes across the distance. Her curly hair hung lank around her sagging shoulders, as though ready to fall out at the roots.

The wooden door at the top of the stairs creaked open, and Jenna disappeared inside.

Before I could react, before I could process that she was gone, thick smoke began to billow out of the top windows of the orphanage. My feelings of abandonment turned to horror.

Orange flames jumped out and licked the distorted, amethyst sky. The building was on fire, and Jenna was inside. My mouth contorted in a scream.

I woke up in my living room, sprawled across the couch. My mouth still hung open, as if sagging from a broken hinge, caught in a soundless cry. A dream. It was all a dream.

The thought hit me immediately, but I couldn't believe it, despite the fact that I felt drowsy from napping. Familiar pressure rose up to my chest, the kind that never made it to my eyes. I hadn't cried since the day Jenna disappeared.

But I had seen her...hadn't I?

Claire leaned her head out from the kitchen, a dish towel slung on her shoulder.

"Are you okay, Ariel?" she asked, her blonde eyebrows knit with concern. "You were talking in your sleep."

I nodded, still dazed. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just slept hard, I guess."

I was miles away from fine. The dream, if that's what it had been, had felt so real. The way dreams are in movies that they never are in real life.

"I was going to wake you up anyway," Claire continued casually, not noticing my distress. "You know if you nap longer then a half hour you can't sleep at night. Been that way since you were little." She went back to unloading the dishwasher, and I heard cupboard doors opening and shutting.

A half hour? My eyes flicked to the clock on top of the entertainment center. Five-thirty PM. Claire was right. But it felt like I'd been asleep for days. I remembered it was still my birthday, and the party was over.

Sunlight streamed in through the slit between the curtains. I pulled them back, gazing at the street. Jenna wasn't there, although I didn't really expect her to be. A few younger kids rode past on bicycles, laughing. A golden retriever chased after their tires, barking playfully. The perfectly ordinary blue sky mocked me.

I waited, watching the road with desperate, bleary eyes. My face still felt mushed from my nap, and I didn't feel entirely _there_ , one foot stuck in the dream world. My friend didn't materialize. Jenna and the orphanage were already fading, leaving an imprint in my mind like exposed film.

My throat burned raw with thirst, and I stood up to go to the kitchen. My legs ached, probably from being squashed on the couch. I stretched my toes through my socks and padded across the room.

Our house had a fairly open floor plan. The kitchen was separated from the dining room and living room by a wall of neat, glass-front cupboards that displayed Claire's sparkling china and crystal. I went to the sink and ran the faucet, gulping water so fast it spluttered up my nose.

"Why are you so parched?" Claire asked. She was now sitting at the dinner table, reading glasses parked on top of her dark blonde hair.

"My mouth is just dry," I said. I could have gulped down an entire sink full.

"I put your new backpack and your school supplies on the basement stairs."

"Good, thanks." I leaned against the counter, shutting my eyes. For a moment, I saw Jenna running up to the orphanage's front door. Glancing back at me, like unfinished business.

"Make sure you get to sleep at a good time tonight," Claire continued, sounding distracted. "Hugh has to drive you to school early tomorrow." No more bus, at least.

Lifting her ever-present travel mug to her lips, she sipped her coffee. Her laptop waited patiently to open for business beside her. No sign of the cake mess remained on the spotless table.

It was the first day of sophomore year tomorrow. I was trying not to think about it. Denial had become my go-to response.

"Did you have a good birthday?" Claire asked.

She wanted me to say yes, but I shrugged instead.

"It was fine. I feel older."

"You are older," she said, smiling wistfully at me. Undisguised worry filled her pale eyes, deepening the creases around them. "I don't like how fast time speeds by. Two more years and you'll be off to college."

"And then I'll come home and find my room has been turned into a scrapbooking nook," I said. My light words hid the fact that my insides were still shaking. I pulled out the chair across from Claire, but didn't sit.

Claire stared at me, slowly assessing me. "I'm sure your friends were just busy, Ariel."

_What friends?_ I thought automatically. She must have thought I was depressed about the lack of fanfare.

"I didn't have enough time to get organized beforehand, with this Smith-Bower proposal I've been working on."

Still feeling detached, I bit down on my index fingernail. The party, or lack thereof, had been the farthest worry from my mind, but to my mother, not doing things exactly right every single time felt like a deadly sin. Imperfection equaled failure.

"Did you want to talk about something?" Claire asked, studying me again. I realized I had been staring off into space.

I hesitated for a second, drawing breath to speak. I wished I could talk about what I'd seen. But I didn't feel like I could open up to her, especially not about some bizarro dream involving my missing friend.

"No. Never mind."

CHAPTER 2

**HUGH STAYED SILENT** during the car ride the next morning. I hadn't woken up so early in months, and I had staggered through getting dressed. Fog still hovered above the cold ground, swirling around trees and beneath cars.

Hugh had to get to work early, so I was going to be at school before anyone else. He owned an art gallery in town called Erasmus, and it was an all-consuming passion for him.

I hadn't slept well at all the night before, too busy worrying about how the day would go.

"You'll do fine," Hugh assured me, idling his Mazda in front of the stone steps that led to Hawthorne's entryway. I could practically feel him itching to give me a pep talk, and I braced myself to pretend to agree with what he had to say.

"Have a good day."

I frowned. "That's it?"

Confusion crossed his face, his hazel eyes narrowing. "Is what it?"

"Those are your sage words of advice? Drive-through talk? Would I like fries with that?"

He chuckled, his tension visibly dispersing. "Good to see your sense of humor is still intact. Now get out of the car."

I stepped out reluctantly onto the sidewalk, and watched the Mazda switch gears and drive off. Listening to the engine fade, I wondered if I should have begged him to let me ditch. Just one day. Deep down I knew that one day could easily become a month.

Two years ago, Hawthorne High had been ripped down and rebuilt on the old foundation. I remembered riding past the construction site, watching workers dangle precariously from support beams inside.

The new Hawthorne was an impressive structure, beautiful and austere, the jewel in the crown that showed the state how seriously our town, Hell, took academics. More than a few seniors were accepted into Ivy League schools every year.

I tugged at the hem of my shirt, black with capped sleeves. I hoped the choice was all right; I had abandoned more colorful options in a pile on my bed. Would I appear too depressed? I hadn't worn anything but pajamas and sweat pants in a while, and I had no idea about trends.

I was just putting off the inevitable. Striding up the steps, I opened the door, and tore the Band-aid off.

HAWTHORNE HELLCATS HAVE SPIRIT! read the banner above the interior doors. The school colors of purple and gold made it glow.

Inside, the familiar smell of canned spaghetti and evil assaulted my nose. I decided to walk around and kill time, instead of sitting and wallowing in my own anxiety. The surroundings were familiar after a few minutes: the slant of the overhead lights, the muddy color of the speckled, hospital-grade floor tiles. It didn't take me long to find all the classes on my schedule.

Throughout the school, the violet lockers were airing out, towels hung off the doors to prop them open. The faint scent of industrial strength cleaner wafted out.

I wandered to the electives hall last, locating the classroom for Painting and Drawing. Everything from woodshop to medical careers had been jammed together there, like leftovers.

I peered in the darkened glass of art room B's window, where pencil sketches had been taped up. The sketches looked perfect until I inspected them closer and made out the amateur, asymmetrical curves and eraser marks. Still better than anything my unskilled hands could produce.

An earsplitting bang ricocheted around me. I jumped back, clutching my chest. Was that a gun? Some outcast trying to blow up the school? My mind reeled, instantly seeing Hawthorne on a breaking news report.

The sound had been distinctly metallic. Fear stiffened my neck, but I forced my head to turn. All of the lockers had shut, the towels dropped in gray lumps.

My heart beat too hard, hammering beneath my ribs. I ran down and out of the hallway, away from the lockers. There had to be a logical reason, but I felt no forced air, no breeze. Nothing to cause the lockers to shut so swiftly and all at once.

Nothing rational.

My pulse beat in my wrists. Cocking my head back over my shoulder, I gasped. The locker doors once again stood open, as if nothing had happened. The towels were undisturbed over the sides, yet my ears still rang from the slamming sound.

I've watched more horror movies than I can name, and I always get mad at the heroine for running away from her fear (and then, inevitably, breaking her ankle or shoe heel).

Forcing my unwilling body to turn fully around, I crept cautiously past the lockers, waiting for whatever trick had been played on me to repeat itself.

Nothing happened. I pushed one purple door with the tip of my finger and it squeaked as it swung gently back on its hinges.

_How did I just imagine that?_ I asked myself silently. _Am I losing my mind?_

###

"Good morning students," Principal McPherson said cheerily over the crackling intercom in homeroom. "Welcome to a brand new school year."

A lone, sarcastic whoop went up from a boy in the back, causing his comrades to giggle. I rolled my eyes as my forehead hit the smooth surface of my desk.

"Now's the time to put your best foot forward," McPherson continued. "All it takes is a positive attitude and the willingness to keep improving, and you can achieve any goal."

I tuned out his voice as he continued to give his pep talk. I wasn't the only one; loud conversations started up around me about last weekend's parties, and who had held their liquor the best.

"I also wanted to extend thanks to the Thornhill Society, for the new improvements to the gymnasium," McPherson said a few minutes later, causing my ears to perk up. "As well as the decorative stone fountain that greeted you all this morning."

I had barely paid attention to the fountain, but it was surely expensive, beautiful and totally unnecessary. The Thornhill Society comprised the wealthiest citizens in town, those that made six figure incomes and spent money like it was going out of style. The parents of the popular kids, who owned more than just businesses in Hell.

When I walked into the girl's locker room, it reeked of raspberry body spray. A few girls were primping in front of the full-length wall mirror, one of them using a sizzling flat iron on her frizzy hair.

I often wondered if I had been born too much of a tomboy. Even though I thought I had the basics of makeup and dressing myself down, I wasn't obsessed like so many others seemed to be. Primping before getting sweaty in PE made no sense.

My name was taped to a locker, misspelled as usual—I wasn't a font. As I changed into a plain pair of shorts and a t-shirt with a faded Mackinaw Island logo, I overheard two girls gossiping nearby on a bench. My two least favorite girls, it turned out, and in the worst possible class they could be in.

"I know Henry likes me already," Lainey Ford bragged. "I can see it in his eyes."

She was the most popular girl in school, with a waterfall of perfectly bleached platinum hair and a closet full of clothes with designer labels. She wore a different outfit every day of the month.

"How do you know that?" Madison Taylor asked. She was the loyal planet that orbited Lainey, never leaving her side.

Lainey had been patting concealer on her nonexistent skin flaws. She stopped and narrowed her cocoa brown eyes at Madison.

"Because he's perfect for me," Lainey said simply. "His family is the only one in Hell that's in the same league as mine."

Lainey never shut up about the fact that her family was obscenely rich. Her father owned several businesses in town, including the tanning salon, which was why Lainey's skin glowed like an orange Creamsicle. Both of her parents were card-carrying members of the Thornhill Society.

"Not to mention, he's gorgeous," Lainey giggled. "And why wouldn't he want me? Every boy in this school wants me."

"I know that! I didn't mean anything," Madison backtracked, stumbling over her spoken words. It was obvious she knew exactly how quickly she could be replaced. "I just mean, how do you know so much about boys?"

"Experience," Lainey said, flipping her hair. "As far as Henry is concerned, there's no way I'm letting anyone else in this school touch him. The first girl that gets near him, I'll go ballistic."

He must be something, I thought, chucking my street clothes in the font locker and spinning the combination.

Lainey had been in love with Ambrose Slaughter, our aptly named school bully, since our juice box days. I figured I'd hate this Henry; another idiot more concerned with the label on his jeans than the brain in his head. Another addition the school didn't need: expensive, beautiful and unnecessary.

An annual fitness test kicked off gym. We had to perform situps and sprints, along with other mundane, novice activities. Coach Fletcher, a woman without a drop of humor in her blood, watched over the proceedings with the seriousness of an Olympic trainer.

My fellow students, even the athletes, didn't show much dedication. When the time came for pushups, most of the girls opted to do them standing, giggling about their boobs.

Whenever anyone even slightly uncoordinated dared perform in front of Lainey, she scoffed and rolled her eyes hard enough to clunk against the sockets. She and Madison were both idols of the girl's basketball team, and Hawthorne was extremely competitive about athletics.

I wasn't bad at sports when I attempted them, I just had no interest. I would have rather been at home reading.

"Hurry up," Lainey squawked to my back when I was up for sprints. "Some of us have lives."

If only witty comebacks came easy for me. I tried hard to think of one, to no avail. After I sprinted from one duct-taped line to the other and back, Coach clicked her stopwatch.

"Not bad." Coach nodded at the watch, as if it had been in control of my legs.

"Not good, either," Madison said, not attempting to whisper.

Lainey tittered, a sound tainted with malice. My sneakers squeaked on the polished hardwood as I retreated to the bleachers. Lainey's pointy shoulder stuck out and smashed into my collarbone. I rubbed the sore spot, ignoring her as I passed.

This wasn't going to be fun.

###

The day dragged on, and I continued sleepwalking. I hated to admit it, even in the privacy of my thoughts, but I felt lost. It hadn't been so bad at home, where I could go on autopilot and coast through my excuse of a life.

At lunch, instead of trying to find a table in the packed commons, I traded my crumpled dollars for a bag of chips and a pop and headed back to the entrance hall.

Certain I would be alone, I was surprised when I stepped around the corner. A boy was standing alone in the front vestibule. A black sweatshirt hood masked his hair, and he appeared to be staring out of the windows overlooking the parking lot. His posture suggested he was debating whether to come inside or take off running.

Cranky that I wasn't alone as I'd wanted, I sat in one of the cubbies lining the side wall. The bag of chips opened with a pop, but I had absolutely no appetite.

_Your love is all I think about_ was graffitied on the cubby seat. "Love" had been scratched out, a little arrow drawn predictably to "sex" in Sharpie.

I cracked my history book on my lap and flipped through it. The front doors swung open with a blast of warm air and vestibule boy stepped inside. I hoped he would leave me be and continue down the hall. I didn't want to be around people, which is why I'd taken such pains to stay out of the commons.

I noticed all at once that he was extremely attractive. He had an angular jaw beneath full lips, wide brown eyes and a cute, defined nose. A face that would make any girl do a double-take. I realized with embarrassment that I was staring, and quickly tore my eyes away from him.

I became occupied with a fascinating oil painting in my textbook. Middle-aged men in white curly wigs were pointing weaponry at one another.

"Why did I come here?" the boy groaned out loud. His voice was deep and rich, almost musical.

I looked up, reacting as though he'd spoken to me, even though I knew he hadn't.

"I should have stayed at home," he continued to himself. He was staring up at the ceiling like it held cosmic answers. "Finished my game, taken a nap. All better options than this place."

"You know, talking to yourself is the first sign you're going crazy." The phantom voice surprised me. Then I realized I was the one who'd spoken. _Oh._

He noticed me for the first time, looking at me curiously. I felt a little embarrassed for both of us. Him for possibly being mentally imbalanced, me for thinking his rambling had anything to do with me, a stranger.

A smile spread over his handsome face. It was so huge and bright as to be almost goofy. His dark eyes lit up, like I was the most interesting person he'd ever seen. My stomach dropped as the moisture retreated from my mouth.

"Sorry to inflict my inner monologue on you," he said, tilting his head. "I have a bad habit of having full conversations with myself. And yeah, I guess it's possible I'm a little nuts."

"That's okay," I said, my voice cracking. I cleared my throat, still so dry. "I was just saying. Sometimes the voices in my head are more interesting than real people, too."

I couldn't believe I said that. A blush burned up my cheeks, but he surprised me by laughing.

Normally my jokes clunked like dead weight. If I was lucky, those around me were polite enough to sidestep my failed attempts at wit, without making a cartoon pratfall noise.

"I'm glad somebody understands," he said warmly.

I figured he'd go on his way, leaving me to zone out. Him being there made me highly self-conscious, and I didn't like it. But he didn't leave; he seemed perfectly content to stand there all day.

"I'm only just getting here," he explained. "Isn't that ridiculous? On the first day. Doesn't bode well for the rest of the year." He shrugged his shoulders, broad for his narrow body frame. "I can't think of an excuse, either."

He swept over and occupied the cubby to my left. I couldn't take in what was happening.

"The truth is, I slept in, but I don't think I can tell them that." Dark brown bangs poked out from beneath the hood, and he pushed them back with slender fingers. "Do you have any ideas?"

"Nope, fresh out," I said matter-of-factly. I glanced back at my textbook. It was impossible to read with him talking to me, but that didn't mean I couldn't try.

"Okay, if you insist on being unhelpful." For a moment, I thought he was flirting, and brushed the thought aside. "How about this? I was trying to save a possum caught in the middle of the road—"

"Make the animal cuter. Possums are kind of creepy, with the beady eyes and their garbage diet." I didn't know what had possessed me to help him.

"Point taken," he said. "Okay, I was trying to save a rabbit from being squashed. Everybody loves rabbits."

"So you saved a bunny. How he-man of you."

"Yes, but once I saved him, I had to help him find his way home. I couldn't just leave him to fend for himself." The tone of his appealing voice was low and intimate, even if his scenario was ridiculous. Like we were co-conspirators. I tried not to notice how full his lips were, and how they moved interestingly as he spoke.

"I went through the woods," he continued, "Forgot about the time. It took me forever to find my way back to the road, because I'm new to the area."

_Running through the woods as the branches break beneath me, just trying to catch her_. _Why won't she stop?_

Yesterday's dream had invaded my thoughts again. I forced my conscious back to the present with some difficulty, temporarily speechless. He didn't seem to notice.

"Do you think the ladies in the office will buy it?" he asked. He crossed his arms over his sweatshirt watching me as I pretended to consider the question.

"Actually, I think it's terrible," I admitted. "Way too complicated. Your pants are spotless, which they wouldn't be if you were prancing around the woods."

"No one said there was prancing," he said with a chuckle.

"Running around, whatever. Just tell the office people your parents had car trouble, like a normal person."

"I'm not really a normal person," he divulged. The silly smile was back, making the area around his eyes crinkle. It was the kind of smile any other person would immediately return, but he was beginning to get on my nerves with his perpetual good mood. Mostly because I couldn't reciprocate.

"Pretend to be. That's what I'm doing," I confessed.

"Interesting." His face was inquiring. "Mind telling me why?"

"I don't even know you. So no."

I told myself again that I just wanted him to go away. Part of me didn't, however. I tried to ignore that part. He kept grinning at me, as though feeding off of the irritation creeping into my voice.

"Don't you have some lying to do?" I added. He hefted himself onto his feet, clad in expensive sneakers, and began to leave. At the corner he turned back, holding on to the wall and leaning away like a flag caught in the wind.

"I'm Henry Rhodes," he said. "I'm the village idiot where I come from. There—now you know me."

I studied him silently. His hair was poking out of the hood again, and bright spots shone in his eyes, reflections from the overhead lights.

He was possibly the strangest boy I'd ever met.

"I'm Ariel. Ariel Donovan," I replied.

He tipped his hand from his head in my direction, as though tilting an invisible cap, then continued on his way. He had a noticeable strut to his step that seemed to be unintentional. I wondered if he'd really spout that lame excuse to get out of half a day's tardies.

As I watched him disappear, something nagged at my attention. The name clicked two seconds after he was out of sight.

Henry was the boy Lainey had claimed.

CHAPTER 3

AFTER MY ODD lunch break, I arrived at Honors American history. As I entered the room, I had a shock. Henry sat nonchalantly in the back row, his legs slung up on the empty seat in front of him.

Huddled around him were a few jock types, including one of the heftier football players and a boy I vaguely knew possessed a record number of swim meet medals. A few girls were unabashedly staring at Henry, entranced by his every word. He was obviously gregarious by nature, and as suggested by his devil may care posture, he didn't seem fazed by the attention.

Ambrose Slaughter leaned over Henry's desk, apparently giving him the rundown of the school. Leather tanned, with gelled golden hair and blue eyes, Ambrose had always reminded me of a demented cherub, pointing his poison-tipped arrow wherever he pleased.

I heard him tell Henry, "Steer clear of the garbage." I imagined Ambrose pointing to me, even though I doubted anyone had witnessed our interaction. Since just the sight of him made a strong wave of guilt crash into me, I figured it was better to get my mind off of him.

"Hi, Ariel," the teacher, Mr. Warwick, said brightly. His wide mouth smiled beneath a salt and pepper mustache as I took a seat in the front row." So, you finally made it to my side of the hallway?"

"Looks that way."

"At least I'll know I have one student who's actually listening," he said with a grin. He turned and began vigorously clearing off the blackboard with an eraser, raising a chalky cloud.

Mr. Warwick had been Hugh's friend for years. I'd known him for as long as I could remember, and he never seemed to change. He had been over for dinner countless times, and made a mean corn relish at our summer barbeques.

"Welcome to Honors American history," Mr. Warwick said to the students, clicking the door shut as the bell rang. "We're going to learn things about the Civil War you never thought possible. We may even get past it by the end of the year."

###

In art room B, replica posters of famous paintings hung on the walls, representing a vast scope of decades and styles of art. Watercolor flowers were placed next to a chunky modern print. Carts of paper and paints crowded the side aisles. On a wire shelving unit in the corner were tiny clay figurines and jars, shiny with aging glaze.

I quickly realized there was no assigned seating. Those were the hardest classes now, just finding someone to sit by was a chore.

It didn't help that I'm terrible at art. My best work was gluing sequins on Popsicle sticks, and even those came out crooked. But Hugh insisted I take it every year, not willing to admit to himself that I didn't inherit the art gene.

A girl sat alone in the back row, her dress made of different sweater pieces stitched together with thick, black thread. Behind slim tortoiseshell glasses, the girl's eyelids sparkled with silver glitter, like ground up coins.

As I walked slowly down the aisle towards her, she spotted me. Swiftly, she snatched her brown messenger bag from the floor and dropped it on the seat beside her. She scowled at me, in case I hadn't gotten the message. Little pins covered the bag, each of them with text I was too far away to read. It was a safe bet they had an antisocial theme.

I took a seat in the second row, next to a nerdy boy who ignored my existence. In front of me, I noticed with an internal groan, sat Lainey Ford. The shimmery waterfall of her hair glinted like a wig, in perfect waves. No curling iron would ever help me attain that.

Her cloying cloud of fruit punch-scented perfume hit me in the face like a chemical warfare attack. I swallowed a cough and peered around. The only other empty seat in class was right beside Lainey, and bumping elbows would be ten times worse.

The second before the bell rang, Henry Rhodes breezed in through the door.

"You have got to be kidding me," I said aloud.

Both Lainey and nerdy boy stared at me like I'd lost my mind. I dipped my head, staring at my ragged, bitten nails. The situation was getting ridiculous, like the universe enjoyed rubbing absurd but gorgeous smile boy in my face. He had been in my Honors English class, too.

Henry swung agilely into the seat next to Lainey, depositing his books on the table. He spun around and gazed directly at me, and I gulped as blood rushed to my temples, making me dizzy. There was something intense and knowing in his look, churning behind the tawny irises.

"I'm not following you," he said. "I swear. This is purely a coincidence."

"Uh huh." I frowned. "I guess we just have similar interests."

I had no idea how to react to his attention. No boy had ever noticed me before, and I knew I was probably reading too much into one conversation.

"I have a question for you." He tipped his chair off the floor, looking at me down the defined slope of his nose. The bridge curved a little to the left, an imperfection that only made him cuter.

"Fire away," I said to Henry, attempting a casualness I didn't feel. I felt like the whole class was watching us, even though they were all busily carrying on their own conversations while waiting for the teacher to begin.

Lainey turned towards us, her china doll face wrought with confusion. She watched our conversation openly, like she had stock in it. _The first girl that goes near him, I'll go ballistic,_ echoed the ghost of her earlier words. I didn't doubt it.

"Why do I irritate you so much?" His face was open and patient, waiting for my explanation.

"What gave you that idea?" I asked, embarrassed that I'd been so obvious.

"Just had that feeling. But I think you'll get used to me, now that we're going to be spending our afternoons together."

Before I could reply, I was staring at the back of his head. I didn't dare glance over at Lainey again, but I could feel her gaze like darts flying into my cheek.

"Funny how that turned out," I whispered to myself. After a moment in which I felt like I was frozen, unable to break my concentration on the wave of dark hair that stopped just above his sweatshirt hood, I looked away and unzipped my backpack.

With the moment broken, the guilt I'd felt for talking to him earlier rushed back, crashing over me. What kind of friend was I proving to be? How could I be worrying about boys when I had no idea where Jenna was, or if she was even still alive? I pushed the second dizzying possibility away.

_What about me_? I could practically hear Jenna whisper. _I'm what's missing. You can't go on until you find me._

###

"How was your first day back?" Hugh asked as he was driving me home. He appraised me with a sideways glance. "You appear to be in one piece."

"Appearances can be deceiving. But I am, mostly. It wasn't as hopeless as I expected." I rubbed my itchy eyes. Now that I was out of school, I could use a nap. It felt like I'd been at Hawthorne for weeks instead of hours. It was amazing how long eight hours could feel when you were bored.

"Did you get homework?"

"Yeah, in nearly every class." I gestured to the bulging exterior of my backpack between my knees. "I thought we were supposed to be immune from that on the first day."

"Guess not this year. Welcome to the life of a big important sophomore." A van whipped out in front of the Mazda, and Hugh pounded the brakes. "I'm glad everything went okay. Now I can admit I worried all day about how it would go."

"This from Mr. You'll Do Fine."

"And you did," he countered.

I sat wordlessly for a moment, seeing only the blurry outlines of dark green trees and yellow street signs through the car window. Shards of afternoon sunlight cut through the grass.

"You know, I could walk home. It's only five minutes," I said, still watching out the window. "It would just be to school and back."

He muttered a curse at the van driver ahead of us, who had stopped short of a traffic light. He hadn't heard me or was pretending to not be listening. I studied my father's face. Hugh had finally shaved off the wiry beard he had adopted when Erasmus opened. Getting rid of it made his face ten years younger, childish round cheeks adding to his boyishness.

"What?" he asked, amused.

"When did you get rid of the beard?"

"About two weeks ago," Hugh said, looking perplexed. "Didn't you notice?"

"Of course I did," I fibbed. "I was just trying to remember."

At home, Hugh parked and we went around to the back sliding glass door. No one was allowed to come in or go out the front door, due to the pale living room carpet. A laminated printout on the door declared NO SHOES ON THE CARPET! complete with a border of dancing vacuums.

I lobbed my backpack on the dinner table to await later attention. In the kitchen, I pulled out sliced turkey and cheese from the fridge and started making myself a sandwich. I was suddenly starving, since I hadn't eaten anything other than a few flavorless potato chips.

Smearing mustard on bread, my mind flicked again to Henry Rhodes. The newcomer who had caught my attention, even though I didn't want it to get caught. He seemed to have enthralled Hawthorne's student body, as well. I'd heard his name being whispered countless times throughout the day, and girls had been falling out of their desks to get a look at him.

I didn't need to be thinking about him, though. I slammed the fridge door harder than necessary, condiment bottles clacking inside. I had more important things to focus on.

Finishing my sandwich, I tossed my trash and went into Claire's home office, shutting the door behind me. The windowless room was dark, save for the green power light on the monitor, and cool. It was the only computer in the house I was allowed to use, since I couldn't lay a finger on Hugh or Claire's laptops.

Booting the computer out of sleep mode, I navigated to Jenna's profile. It had become a wall of people posting _Miss you_ and _Come back home_ messages. Some names were familiar, others I'd never heard of. Jenna probably hadn't heard of them, either. The posts had dwindled to fewer in the last month, and only two this week.

I typed in the address for the Livingston County Gazette, then searched Jenna's name. Nothing new there, either—just the few brief articles published when she went missing. The computer hummed idly, buzzing like a trapped fly.

I shut the monitor back off. The sinking feeling in my heart only lasted for a moment; it was easy to brush off now that I felt it so often. The hope I had left was as fragile as glass.

Back in the kitchen, I washed off my knife and sandwich plate. A pile of dishes awaited me in the sink, and I began rinsing them off to pop into the dishwasher.

Hugh's paintbrushes rested in a white bowl he'd used as a palette, rainbow streaks of paint pooling from the bristles. I shook my head at the mess. At least he'd had time to paint today, or at least squeeze the stuff out of the tubes and stare at a canvas, instead of being buried in paperwork.

Hugh specialized, not surprisingly considering our surroundings, in hellscapes—surreal wastelands, sometimes with dramatic, frightening creatures. I was glad he had never been the one to tell me bedtime stories.

Wringing out the dish cloth, I glimpsed out the window above the sink. Startled, I nearly dropped the plate in my grip.

The weird, antisocial girl from art class was watching me, her small face peering over the fence separating our property from the neighbor's. Bright green eyes bored through me, magnified by her glasses. The eyes of a cat watching a bird as it flitted around.

It took her a second to realize she'd been spotted. But as soon as she did, she jumped off the fence, spun around, and sprinted towards the yellow house behind her.

_Awesome,_ I thought. _My new neighbor is a weirdo._

###

I tipped the plate downwards, the china we'd used on my birthday glinting in the light. The spaghetti slid and splattered on the carpet, two thickly packed, greasy meatballs leaving dark snail trails. Claire was going to kill me for this mess. Cut my throat and bleed me like a stuck pig.

But the hungry carpet sucked the mess down, nourishing itself. It left behind only a smear of crimson. After a moment, that too faded. Gratitude warmed my worried heart.

Not strange at all. I had to feed the carpet, so it wouldn't get too hungry. If the ground became hungry, it might take a bite out of me.

The smear of color was back, rusty red, darker than ever. Small bubbles appeared as it began to froth and burble. The liquid was something else now: viscous, thick. Like blood.

I bolted upright in my bed, my heart a frantic bird trapped inside my ribcage. Clutching my comforter in both fists, I waited for my terror to abate. But the fear persisted, even though the dream was incredibly absurd now that I was wide awake.

Ludicrous or not, I pictured a creature lurking beneath the floor with sharp, bloodstained teeth. I pulled the blue and green comforter up to my chin and buried my face in its softness.

Taking a few deep breaths, I tried to pull the air into my lungs. It wasn't working. Still groggy, I lowered my bare feet to the floor gingerly and stood. It wasn't the lack of light or the dream that was scaring me.

Someone was lurking in the dark.

I couldn't see them, but I could feel them, as real as my own body. An unfamiliar animal instinct took charge. The stranger had been watching me sleep. I shivered strongly and swayed on unsteady legs.

A foreign buzz of electricity stirred in the air, like before a thunderstorm. But this was tighter, more claustrophobic than in my dream of Jenna; as though the individual molecules had started spinning too fast.

One of these things just doesn't belong...

My eyes darted to the closet first, the usual suspect in slasher films. I could almost make out a figure hiding behind the crammed clothing. Before my imagination could take off any faster, I crossed the floor and yanked the clothes apart. The hair on my arms and neck prickled, but the closet was unoccupied.

I turned, half-expecting to see a figure in a Halloween mask behind me—

Looking for me?

—but no one lurked there, either. For all I could see, I was alone. My room wasn't that big, with precious few hiding spots. I peered around the bed, then crouched and shifted the shoe boxes and books beneath it, coming up empty.

Yet I could feel eyes on me, as strongly as when Lainey had glared at me in art class. For a brief moment, I pictured her hiding in the ceiling vent, waiting for the opportunity to jump out and strike me down. A nervous chuckle escaped my dry lips, and my tongue darted out reflexively.

The door to the hall creaked as I pushed it open. Every second, every step, I expected the unseen intruder to show him or herself and catch me off guard. But the adrenaline rushing through my veins made me temporarily brave.

I flicked on the light in the shadowy laundry room. The shadows retreated, revealing no monsters, human or otherwise, in the sparse, tidy room. The washing machine and dryer stood opposite a freezer chest, a spare basket with detergent and fabric softener on the floor.

The storage room fared no differently. It was so packed with junk a flea couldn't find a comfy spot. But my feeling of unease only continued to grow. A box shifted with a shuffling sound and I jumped. My hand found my chest, trying to comfort my racing heart.

Nerves prickled along my neck like creeping bugs. The hall emptied out to the main room, the size of our living room upstairs. The only place I hadn't checked. Whoever (or whatever) was watching me had to be there.

The overhead light bathed everything in yellow fluorescence. Bric-a-brac and discarded furniture crowded the open room, casting rich, deep shadows. Especially in the corners, where the black shapes could have been anything.

The adrenaline ran out, and flight mode kicked in. _I must be having a panic attack_. What else could it be? I was getting scared of my own thoughts like a little kid.

On the far wall were the French doors leading outside, as our house had been built on a slope. Usually, I was proud my parents trusted me not to take advantage of the unguarded exit. Right now, it only made me feel vulnerable.

I could almost see Jenna swooping out into the night. _I won't miss you,_ the memory of her voice taunted.

I was sure I'd locked the doors before bed. At least, I thought I was sure. But now that I considered it, I couldn't be certain it wasn't just routine that I checked the lock. There was no broken glass, no sign of an intruder. Still...

I stomped over to the French doors, growing weary of this cat-and-mouse game with my own fear. They were locked after all, but I didn't stop. One door protested loudly as I pushed it open. Stepping out into the cold night, my toes turned icy on the cement slab porch.

Not a soul was around. The sky lacked a moon, and the world slept peacefully below. A lone car rumbled by on the street, breaking the harmony only momentarily until it drove past. I put one foot on the dewy grass, turning in a circle like some kind of demented ballet.

The dark doorway I'd come from looked more like a threat than home. I forced myself back inside since my feet were freezing. Normal people were sleeping in their beds, not chasing phantoms. Why couldn't I be normal? It seemed like the harder I tried, the further I strayed from average.

I had to get back to sleep, to ward off this panic attack so that I'd be able to function for school in the morning. I yawned, trying to assure myself I was perfectly safe.

The air against my skin went frigid. Above me, the cheap light bulb flickered. The filament broke with a crackle, drowning the room in blackness.

A tiny noise escaped my throat. My fear peaked, heart pounding as though I were running as fast as the nightmare in which I'd followed Jenna. The shadows gathered and drew up in front of me. Two bright, almond shapes glared at me like fiery eyes. I swallowed thickly.

As fast as they had swept upon me, the dark shape and feeling of dread were sucked out of the room. Light stung my eyes and I blinked. I'd watched the bulb break, but it was back on like it had never gone out. I shut my eyes, rubbing the lids fiercely, but the room was still bright, almost obscenely cheerful.

Sinking down to my knees, I waited for my heart to return to a healthy beat. When I could finally breathe, I locked the doors and bolted back to my room.

I dove into bed, not daring to think about what I'd just experienced. I tugged the comforter up to my chin again, trying to find safety in its warmth.

A long night awaited me until I finally drifted into a light doze. Even though now I felt utterly alone.

CHAPTER 4

BY MORNING, WHEN the braying of my alarm clock woke me from my lousy sleep, I'd convinced myself that I had imagined the whole incident. The entire series of non-events seemed like a half-forgotten dream.

The remainder of the week breezed by. I didn't interact much with anyone, and just drifted through classes. It seemed like nobody knew how to talk to me, so they didn't bother. I knew looking at me reminded them that Jenna was gone.

The one person that had offered to befriend me was soon caught up with the popular crowd. Henry barely said a word to me after the first day, just a polite 'hi' here and there. To be fair, I didn't make much of an effort. I had a new place in the order of things now, and that place was making it through the days as unnoticed as possible.

Every night I came home and plowed laboriously through homework. When I was down in my room, I turned music up loud in my earphones, just in case I got the creepy feeling again. But it didn't happen.

On Friday, Hugh joined me for breakfast, pouring two bowls of unhealthily colorful cereal. He was in his robe and slippers, his trusty morning cup of black coffee beside him.

"I had a talk with Claire last night," he said casually, skimming the morning paper. He folded the paper up crookedly and set it beside his bowl. He hadn't combed his hair yet, and pieces stuck out at awkward angles.

"About what?" I asked, swirling my spoon around. I never had an appetite in the morning with the lingering taste of toothpaste.

"You know what. Your suggestion that you walk to school, remember? I thought it was an important issue."

"Oh, that."

"Yes, that," he said, almost irritated. He started to butter his toast with a random steak knife he'd pulled out of the drawer. He'd never lived on his own, and without my mother he would probably be helpless.

"Let me guess, she said no way in this lifetime," I predicted, sighing. If they started making playpens in teen sizes, I'd be screwed.

"Actually smarty pants, she agreed to let you walk. After intense deliberation. The only stipulation is that you have to send me a text when you get to school and when you leave for home. That way we know you're getting where you're going."

"No joke?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. I still couldn't believe it.

"No joke."

It was a little step, but it was the first breath of freedom I'd taken in months. I rushed off to finish getting ready.

Outside, fog hung low to the ground, obscuring the landscape. The sky was the flat, dull gray that came just after dawn. Despite the early morning chill, I felt happy just to be breathing fresh air. It smelled faintly of leaves starting to die and corn almost ready to be harvested. I inhaled until my lungs burned.

After Jenna disappeared, my parents had basically sequestered me inside, whether they realized it or not. I felt trapped, not just by them, but by myself. I hadn't wanted to leave the house; I saw no reason for it. I made up excuses to get out of anything occurring farther than our lawn.

I'd lived in our small town of Hell in the bowels of Michigan my whole life. Despite the unusual name, and the residents' affinity for dressing it up like Halloween town all year, Hell was a typical suburban town. We were lucky so far to miss the brunt of the state's economic troubles. Many cities surrounding us were in danger of becoming ghost towns. For Hell, ghosts were merely a bonus.

When I entered the commons, feeling more awake and energized than usual, it wasn't as jarring as it had been earlier in the week. Even though the cavernous room was packed and loud, I didn't have the urge to run anymore.

Ten minutes remained before school started. A couple of girls I'd been casual friends with for years, Becky Long and Sarah Abbot, were sitting together at one of the tables. Becky's mom had even led one of the search parties when Jenna went missing.

We had often occupied the same lunch table back in the day, although it seemed like a different life now. One belonging to a girl who didn't have a care in the world.

"Ariel!" Becky called. I felt a little embarrassed that she'd seen me staring, but I went over.

"Why don't you sit with us?" Becky offered amicably, gesturing to the unfilled seat across from her. I had the feeling they had been talking about me, the way all the girls had clammed up upon my arrival.

I sat and put my stuffed backpack on top of my knees. My stomach felt acidic, like I was waiting to receive bad news. The other seven seats were filled, and everyone was paying rapt attention to me.

"How are you?" Becky asked, clasping her hands together and tucking her little rounded chin on top.

"I'm fine," I replied, for lack of a better adjective.

Awkward silence followed. No one knew what else to say, and now everyone was deliberately _not_ looking at me. Still, I was glad to be sitting there, even as I combed my brain for a conversation starter and came up short. I couldn't stand being singled out anymore, and at least I could blend in with their group and be just another girl.

" _Loveless_ finally came out this weekend. We were going to get tickets," Sarah piped up, and the other girls jumped on the topic as if it were beef jerky and they'd been up in the mountains for days.

###

I started each day with geometry, the subject I dreaded most. Numbers twisted and morphed in my head, and I could never get a good grasp on them. Every time I learned long division, I forgot it again.

Mr. Vanderlip, the math teacher, was a twitchy little man in a paisley tie. On the billboard by the door, he'd pinned up dour photos of calculus classes and math competition teams, perfectly aligned in ruler-straight rows.

The board was covered in chalk, numbers and symbols. Vanderlip blurred and smeared the chalk with the side of his scribbling hand. He berated the first student who raised his hand and had a decimal in the wrong place.

"This is remedial stuff!" Vanderlip squawked. The boy who had spoken up turned beet purple. "This kind of equation should be second nature by now. It should be instant in your pea-sized brains. Have you all been sleeping for the last ten years?"

As he turned, the skinny stripes on his shirt contorting, I watched the other students silently debate whether they should ever raise their hands again. So far it had been a very quiet class.

"And just so you're prepared, your first test is on Monday," Vanderlip said sternly, still scribbling with his chalk-dirty hand.

Everyone groaned in unison, one boy throwing his notebook in the air and collapsing in defeat on his desk.

I sat at Becky's table again at lunch, still only listening, but comforted by the companionship. I'd lost my opinions somewhere along the way, but the others didn't seem to mind. It was easier to pretend I was wallpaper.

In history, Henry chatted busily in the back of the room. Ambrose kept patting him on the back like a brother. I should have guessed it from the first time I met Henry, the easy confidence and expensive sneakers, but he had seemed so different from the preppy jerks at Hawthorne.

A sea of gold and purple jerseys and sports jackets shifted between us. It was as though we were positioned on two different sides of a chess board, with a group of pawns in the way.

_I've lost him,_ I thought briefly. But I'd never had him in the first place. He wasn't mine to want or lose. I turned back to Mr. Warwick. He was cheerfully describing George Washington's crossing of the Delaware, complete with a pathetic doodle on the board of said President in what was either a boat or an oversized banana.

In art, I'd been sitting in the same spot with the same indifferent male all week. My spying neighbor had gone back to ignoring me, and her adjoining seat was always taken up by her pin-loaded messenger bag.

Henry and Lainey were engaged in conversation, and I was trying not to pay attention. Of course, that only made my brain zero in on what they were saying. Henry hadn't said a word to me since the first day, despite teasing me about spending our afternoons together.

"All I'm saying is, since we live in Hell, we should be able to sin and get away with it," Henry said. His charming voice distracted me, so much more mature than other sophomore boys. The spell was broken by Lainey's high-pitched, fake giggle, aching my teeth like squeaky chalk.

"You are so baaad." She touched his bicep flirtatiously, her hand lingering there. I looked away, both oddly jealous and queasy.

"Everyone open your sketchbooks to last night's homework," Ms. Vore instructed from her desk. She'd passed out the slim black books the first day. As I opened mine, the binding crinkled pleasantly, still smelling of fresh paper.

Ms. Vore had replaced the batty, purple Mumu wearing art teacher from last year. I always assumed dressing like a carnival fortune teller was part of the job requirements, but she looked sane. Stylish, even. Today her hair was pulled back in a smart bun, and she wore a well-fitted black vest over a white oxford shirt.

"What do you see?" she asked. "When you look down at what you've drawn, what greets your eyes?"

I peered at what I'd managed. Crude stick figures, possibly drawn using the artist's feet.

"Think of your sketchbook as the window to your creativity," Ms. Vore said, rubbing her hands together. Her face was excited, as though she were a student herself. "Feel free to doodle whatever you want when the urge strikes you. There are no rules. If you fill up one book, I'll give you another. Just let yourself loose on the pages."

She launched into a demonstration of different shading techniques on the board, occasionally dropping her chalk and swooping up a dog-eared book that she held out so everyone could see.

I paid close attention. While she had perfectly okay ability, it didn't seem like she was the best artist, either. She seemed to have more appreciation than talent, which I found endearing.

I dutifully texted Hugh as I set out on my journey back home. As I came around behind the house, I noticed my neighbor was already sitting on the swing set next door. Her right hand scribbled in the sketchbook on her lap, attention never leaving the paper.

She wore a poofy, tutu-like black skirt and black and white striped leggings, and her glitter today was red, matching the vivid, artificial red of her hair. Her glasses kept sliding down her nose and each time she pushed them up with two fingers.

I stood on the grass, studying her over the fence as she had studied me. Birds sang cheerfully from their perches on electrical wires and the breeze blew the grass gently. Little kids' voices echoed down the road as they played a game of hopscotch.

She didn't seem so intimidating now; in fact, considering how little she was, she didn't seem intimidating at all. All big attitude and bad vibes.

An impulse hit me. I was prone to having them, but had rarely acted on them, until now. I darted inside my own house.

"I'm home," I informed Hugh, who was eating a microwave burrito and searching through a manilla folder full of important-looking documents.

"I see that." He didn't look up. "Thank you."

"But I'm going to be in the backyard for a few minutes," I said, hoping my neighbor was staying put.

"Digging up weeds?"

"Not exactly."

He saluted me and went back to his burrito and his work. As I walked over to the fence, I anticipated what to say. Or whether it was a good idea to be saying anything to the strange girl.

"Hey!" She startled, throwing her arms out, and almost fell off of the swing. The sketchbook tumbled open on the grass.

I hadn't expected that reaction. Most of the alt-kids at Hawthorne were tough and aloof, and talking to them was risking getting your teeth realigned.

"What do you want?" she asked, picking up her book and resuming her place. The words didn't come out rude, merely curious. Her slender left ankle was bandaged, pushing up the legging.

"Did I do something to offend you?" I asked calmly.

She capped the pen she'd been using to draw and gazed at me. I'd never seen such vibrant green eyes, the color of limes. I assumed they must be contacts.

"What?" Her cheeks reddened slightly.

"As far as I know, I've never talked to you before today. But it seems like you think I did something wrong."

She appeared caught for a second, then her features smoothed out. "No. Your friends just don't like me."

"I don't really have any friends at Hawthorne anymore," I said. It felt odd to say it out loud, and I knew I wasn't counting Becky and Sarah, but I felt more like a charity case than a friend to them.

"I thought you and that Lainey girl were friends," she said, relaxing her posture a little. "I've seen them talking to you."

I laughed for the first time in a while.

"I am way too dorky for them and also"—I gestured towards my house, middle class but not extravagant—"I don't live in a mansion. The fabulous encounters you've been witnessing are them using me for target practice."

"Never mind, then. I guess I was mistaken. Just pretend you didn't see me."

She started to stand up, but I was suddenly desperate to talk with someone who I wasn't related to. Someone who didn't know me, and hopefully wouldn't make assumptions.

"You just moved here, right? Where did you live before?"

"Chicago." She brushed a fallen leaf off of her sketchpad, but she didn't resume drawing.

"Do you miss it?"

"Every day." She looked up at the sky, as if there were an invisible dome above our heads instead of the azure blue atmosphere. "I don't like this town. It feels...isolated. Like we're cut off from the rest of the world."

"I don't like it either," I agreed, putting my foot up on one of the low fence supports. "And I've lived here my entire life."

"That sucks." Her nose rabbit-twitched momentarily.

"What's your name? I'm Ariel."

She paused for a second, tucking a lock of ruby hair behind one elfin ear. "Theo Weaver. Nice to meet you." She stood and walked to the fence, sticking out her hand above the posts for me to shake, an oddly formal gesture.

"Likewise," I said. "Theo, that's a pretty unusual name for a girl."

"It's short for Theosophia," she explained. "My mom has strange taste. I almost ended up an Elvira, but only because she loved Elvis as a kid."

As if on cue, Theo's mom appeared in the doorway of their lemon-colored house. To my astonishment, I saw that it was Ms. Vore, our art teacher.

"That's your mom?" I asked, even though I could already tell the answer. Vore had seemed too young to have kids, especially a teenage kid. Theo nodded sheepishly.

"I'll see you at Hawthorne, okay?" She jogged swiftly to the porch where her mother waited. Laundry fluttered on a line in their backyard, rustling in the breeze. More of what could only be Theo's fashions hung there, looking like the remains of a little girl's dress up box that had fallen into the hands of an insane seamstress.

I stood wondering what exactly had just happened, and if we were on good terms now or not. The fact that anyone would associate me with Lainey seemed impossible. People were too hard for me to figure out.

###

On Saturday, I stayed in bed long after I woke up, not wanting to move. I had two whole days away from Hawthorne to look forward to, no politics or drama for forty-eight hours.

When I finally climbed the stairs, I saw sheets of rain sliding down the windows and pooling on the back deck. It didn't let up all day, and I trudged around the house, not changing out of my pajamas or brushing my hair. I clicked back and forth between reality show marathons on TV, until I couldn't stand housewives or survival games in the rainforest anymore.

"I need to run up to Erasmus," Hugh informed me, already dressed in his coat. I was sitting on the couch, picking through a bag of popcorn that had only half-popped. "Want to tag along?"

"Sure," I said, abandoning my snack.

Hugh stowed a banker's box of expense reports in the backseat of the Mazda and we took off. I didn't get out of the car while he ran into Erasmus, chugging through the soaking rain.

Instead, I watched people pop in and out of shops on Main Street, dashing towards their cars as their shopping bags got soaked. Black spiders trailed over a cotton spiderweb in one store's display window across the street.

When Hugh got back into the car and started the engine, an idea whispered to me.

"Is that old orphanage still around? The one past Lee Street?"

"Hmm? Oh, the Dexter Orphanage?" Hugh frowned in thought. "I think so. They've been talking about tearing it down for years, but I don't think they ever did. The city can't straighten out who owns the property." He finally must have realized what a funny question it was, because he frowned at me. "Why?"

I shrugged. "Could we drive back there and check it out?"

Hugh's eyes narrowed. "Does this have anything to do with the books Corinne gave you?"

Aunt Corinne's birthday gift had been a stack of books about ghosts and psychic phenomenon. It was the kind of stuff I relished, and I read them every night before bed.

No one knew about my dream of Jenna, though I still remembered most of the details. Swirling purple sky, bare threatening trees. Losing my voice to the wind.

"A little. I just thought it would be interesting."

"You know, most kids your age are going to the movies or getting into trouble," he said.

"Aren't you glad I'm not most kids?" I asked innocently.

He turned off Main Street and drove around the enormous, newly renovated town library. The Thornhill Society had helped sponsor the renovation. A crane idled behind the building, then began ambling over the newly broken ground.

"I don't remember the exact road," Hugh said apologetically. "But it's somewhere around here. I know you go past the lake, that's all I remember."

The Mazda turned onto a dirt road, then another, flanked by tall trees with posted private property signs. Hugh and I bounced against our seat belts, while a warbling song filtered quietly out of the radio, almost drowned out by road noise.

"This is it. I remember now," he said, pointing at a dilapidated sign that read _Sanitarium Rd_. I exchanged a glance with my father. The area appeared long deserted, like nature was claiming it again. The road was empty, trees leaning over our car to form a leafy tunnel. Ivy and moss turned the tree trunks an eerie shade of lime green in the drizzle.

"Good place to dump a body," I said, and he snickered, the only person who shared my humor.

The Mazda bumbled along, tiny pebbles striking the undercarriage. By his constipated look, he feared that the car would have to undergo detailing after our excursion.

Deja vu struck me as I peered out of the passenger window. My side of the road was lined with thick, ancient trees, many of them bushy evergreens. A wall that blocked out the sky.

The car rounded a bend in the road and the orphanage came into view behind its imposing iron fence. My breath escaped in one rush, leaving me lightheaded. It was like revisiting my dream in the daylight.

The car halted across from the gate. Both of us gazed up at the dark, impressive building, smack in the middle of nowhere.

"Now _that_ is where you'll find the bodies," Hugh said, shifting into neutral. "Is it everything you dreamed of?"

I shivered involuntarily. "Yeah," I said quietly, "down to the last detail." He had no idea how close his question hit.

My hands were already scrambling to unbuckle my seat belt, and I slid out of the passenger side. The rain had tapered off to a barely-there sprinkle, and the sun was just behind the clouds, making them glow.

"I didn't know a sightseeing tour was on the agenda," Hugh called after me.

"I'll only be a minute," I assured him.

The road was deserted, no traffic in either direction. I traversed quickly across and up to the fence. A large sign had been attached to the bars with zip ties, reading _Coming in October_ — _Hell's Orphanage, Haunted House Attraction._

I vaguely remembered seeing ads for that in the paper years ago, but the sign looked brand new. Halloween infected our entire town come October, so it would be a full time job keeping track of it all.

The bars were cool to the touch as I ran my fingers across them. I had dreamed of the place so accurately, right down to the exact shade and width of the bars. Odd. One detail in my dream had been wrong, however. No funny copper symbol.

Although I expected the gate to be locked, it swung open with a lonely cry. I stood in place, debating my options. I peered back at Hugh, who from the looks of things was having an animated phone conversation with Claire, likely involving politics.

Technically, I would be trespassing if I went on the property. But the house looked abandoned for now, future haunted house or not. No signs warned against trespassers.

A cool breeze whooshed through the fence, blowing my hair around my shoulders. I took the hair elastic I always wore off of my wrist and whirled my hair into a messy ponytail. It was sometimes a pain having hair down to the middle of my back, but I'd grown it out for so long that I was stubborn about cutting it.

Beer cans, old cigarette packs, and dud scratch-off tickets littered the lawn. I made my way closer to the building. The grass had surrendered, leaving dry brown patches, the rain puddling in spots but not making much of a difference.

_Then the carpet sucks it down, nourishing itself_. I shook off the thought, another fragment from a random dream.

The orphanage loomed above me, loftier than it appeared on the street. Mottled gray stone walls framed four rows high of slender, elongated windows, open in silent screams. Broken glass hung in the frames like teeth.

It reminded me of the old factories around Detroit, rotting steel skeletons holding on while the skin of their walls disintegrated into dust and blew away. Rusty bars guarded the orphanage's top windows, where long ago they must have kept the orphans imprisoned. Goosebumps popped along my forearms.

A split staircase led up to the front door. The steps had begun to cave in, some missing entirely, leaving gaping black holes. I couldn't see underneath, but I imagined small animals nesting there, hiding in the dark.

"Ariel, come on, let's go!" Hugh called. I glanced over my shoulder and was surprised to see how far away he was, a tiny figure standing with his hands on his hips.

The desperate urge to run far away from the orphanage rippled through me. No one was here, and it was certainly not a place Jenna would dare to set foot in. She didn't like scary things, which is why we always had a hard time finding a movie both of us could watch.

I raced back over the lawn, almost tripping on the detritus polluting the soggy ground, and reached the gate. I didn't dare look back.

CHAPTER 5

ON SUNDAY, CLAIRE barricaded herself in her home office, swamped with the proposal for her job. She worked for an insurance company, approving or denying people coverage while she wasn't in board meetings. Her signature was a rubber stamp.

The job was stressful, but Claire thrived under stress—it was the fuel that powered her engine. Without deadlines and last minute fixes, she would have felt unimportant.

The office door remained shut, meaning she didn't want disturbances. I wanted to use the computer, but I decided it was better it be occupied. Better to keep away from Jenna's dormant page and the urge to hit refresh again and again. It was a bad habit I'd acquired in August, when the days were long and the nights too short.

Due to the nonstop rain, by noon it was as dim as evening. The persistent drumming seemed to insulate the house. In the living room, swirling forest green wallpaper decorated the walls, which only accentuated the lack of light. But gloomy had become less comforting than it used to be. I made a tour of the first floor, flicking on all the lamps.

"I have an adventure for us," Hugh said, coming out of the kitchen carrying a box of garbage bags.

"Are we burying our enemies?" I asked.

"Ha, you are just so funny." He chucked the box at me and I caught it with both hands like a football. "We're finally going to conquer the storage room."

"You mean you're finally cracking under Claire's pressure?" I asked cynically. Claire had been relentlessly hounding Hugh for months, ever since our May yard sale, to clean out the room full of junk in the basement. She wanted to turn the little nook into her own personal exercise haven.

"That's exactly what I mean," Hugh said. He grabbed a stack of broken down moving boxes he'd brought in from the shed. "Let's do this thing."

With me in the lead, we headed downstairs, our footsteps clomping heavily. In the dusty storage room, we both managed to squeeze in, although there was barely room to stand.

"So what's the plan? Or do we not have one?" I asked, surveying the towering boxes of junk.

"The plan is to get as much of this garbage out of here as possible," Hugh said firmly. "I have a truck coming from the thrift shop around five."

"And Claire's okay with that?"

"She said as long as she doesn't have to look at any of it, it can go. How else can we make any room in here?"

When my grandparents died in a car crash two years ago, their belongings came to us. There was no other option but to cram it all in the storage room. Claire had a hard time parting with something as small as a glass Mason jar, and there was a great deal to part with, each item with its own attached memories. My grandparents had been fairly wealthy, and Grandma Eleanor had collected antiques on the verge of hoarding.

Hugh started folding together one of the boxes and set it on top of a battered end table. Then he paused, hands on his hips, surveying what to do next.

"Where do we start?" I asked, still stalled with indecision.

"Wherever you want," he said, "Just start, and keep going. Considering how you and I operate, if we quit in the middle, we'll never get finished. And I'm not calling those stoners back to cancel the truck."

I began to paw through the first box in front of me. We quickly became more involved in the work, digging through more boxes and bags, and taking out the garbage and donations to the main room.

It was still musty in the windowless room, even with the door open and a fan blowing down the hall. Puffs of dust whirled up like spirits whenever a box was shifted, and I got used to sneezing. I found an ancient tub of my baby clothes, complete with a baggie of nibbled, yellowing pacifiers.

I held up the baggie. "Let me guess, keep?"

"Don't waste time on foolish questions," Hugh said.

I rolled my eyes and tucked the tub in a corner. A rack of old clothing was crushed against the back wall. On a rusty wire hanger hung a baby blue tuxedo I assumed had belonged to my grandfather. Complete with pleated pants and a ruffled white undershirt.

Keeping the ug-xedo company were a couple of sweaters with shoulder pads and color vomit that moths had feasted on. I had no idea how any adult could criticize clothes nowadays when this kind of look was ever in vogue.

"Everything on that rack can go," Hugh said."In case you haven't figured it out."

"But this is so _classy_ ," I pointed out, holding up one of the shimmery polyester suit sleeves to my own arm. "You could wear it to parties. Everyone would wonder, 'who is that handsome man?'"

"Your mom and I partied ourselves out a long time ago. The music today is just too loud."

I snorted back a laugh. My dad was a complete dork, but being an incomplete dork myself, I loved him. He helped me wheel the time machine out into the hall. I let go and pulled a sticky cobweb off my palm. We looked over the little mountain of junk, satisfied with our progress.

"Do you think all of this will fit in their truck?" I asked, assessing the damage. If Claire had seen the pile she would have fainted cold.

"We'll make it fit," he said determinedly, running a hand through his dusty hair.

In the corner was a dusty box of loose photographs, mostly of Claire and Corinne as kids. They're fraternal twins, but in the earliest pictures, they were dressed in matching outfits, complete down to the hair ribbons. As though their mother wanted them to be the same person.

I flipped through the stack of images, watching the girls age and morph into their current personalities. Claire looked fashionable for the time, with a perm and acid wash jeans, while Corinne's hair always fell flat and dull, held in place with straight barrettes. I could totally imagine them fighting tooth and nail over a bathroom mirror.

A musty old file lay at the bottom of the box, with "Eleanor's Medical Records" scrawled across the front. I picked it up, fascinated.

"Take a look at this," I said, more to myself than Hugh, as I lifted the manila cover. Hugh snatched the folder out of my hands, before I caught more than a glance at the yellowed papers inside.

"Claire would want this," he said, distracted.

"Okay. But can I just look through it a little before you take it to her?" I pleaded. "She was family, I'm sure there's nothing—"

"You wouldn't be interested in grimy old papers," he said. He had already tucked the file beneath his arm.

"Are you kidding? Have we met before? I would definitely be interested in grimy old papers."

"That would be a little disrespectful, don't you think, kiddo?" He leaned back against the bare wall. "You can guess the kinds of medical tests old people have to undergo. Unless you're interested in diabetes or colonoscopies, I think you can pass it up."

He put the file in the half-full box of items to go upstairs. The subject was closed.

My mind raced with reasons why he had been so swift to snatch that file. I wondered if maybe I _was_ being rude, but I didn't see the harm in looking at my grandmother's old papers. The harder I tried to put it out of my mind, the more it was all I could think about.

When we finished, it was a quarter to five. The room was almost totally clear, save for tubs stacked in the corner, an old TV and DVD player we'd rigged up for Claire to watch exercise shows, and the treadmill.

After the van had taken away our donations (which did fit, after all, with room to spare) I helped Hugh prepare a quick dinner of cold sandwiches. After I finished the dishes, I retreated to the homework I had been avoiding all weekend, forcing myself to sit at my desk. A legitimate thunderstorm started crashing outside, rumbles of thunder vibrating beneath my socks.

I was preparing for—and therefore stressing out about—my first math test. I had been doing okay in my grades so far, but Mr. Vanderlip was blowing through subsections so fast I had to race to keep up.

I never understood why time outside of school always went by a million times faster than that spent in school. The hours disappeared as I finished my homework, and before I knew it I had to get ready for bed.

I shut off the light and lay in the dark, my hands crossed over my chest. When I shut my eyes, all I saw were black letters reading _Eleanor's Medical Records._

###

When I dreamed that night of Jenna, she was strolling instead of fleeing. The forest surrounded us again, but this time it didn't reach out to stop me. I walked behind her, but there was no more desperation. She kept a few paces in front of me as we trampled the underbrush. A thick, unnerving blanket of fog crept around the tree trunks, and vines snaked from branch to branch in the trees like a net ready to drop.

I woke up, the dream departing in the dark.

###

In gym, I discovered that I couldn't go too many days without being the target of mockery.

"Nice shorts. Did you steal them from a charity box?" Madison asked me innocently. She was obviously showing off for Lainey, who stood beside her texting on a hot pink phone that probably cost more than my parents made in six months.

I looked down at the black mesh shorts I often wore. They weren't _that_ bad. "Uh, no. This is just what I have."

"Well, if you don't care about looking scrubby, that's up to you. I was just trying to help," Madison declared.

Madison herself was prancing around in pink shorts with _Juicy_ printed across the butt in rhinestones. They were so tight they could have been spray-painted on. Logic told me the issue was clothes, and it shouldn't be important. But the other half of my brain wondered if I should beg Claire to take me to the mall for athletic wear.

The bleachers were halfway extended, due to an upcoming assembly. Theo Weaver sat on the bottom row by herself. Her ankle bandage was gone. I immediately navigated to the space next to her. She felt like a safe harbor, distant from my nosy classmates.

"Hi," she said with some surprise, watching me cautiously as I sat next to her. Her emerald glitter looked pale in comparison to the unusually bright green of her irises. "Didn't expect you to talk to me in school."

"Why is that? You're the only person with a functioning brain around here."

She smiled and looked out over the masses as they stood, stretching and getting warmed up. She didn't seem as twitchy or shy now that she was away from her house and her mom.

"I didn't know you had gym this hour." I hadn't seen her in class before, although admittedly I always tried to zone out during physical education.

"Well, I got to miss the first few days because of my ankle," she said, pulling her skinny leg up and gesturing. Her socks had rabbits on them. "I could have sat out today in study hall, too, but I figured I had milked my injury enough."

I was curious as to how she'd gotten hurt, but I didn't want to pry. I barely knew her and even though I had a ton of questions I thought it best to hold back.

She leaned closer to me. "My ankle's been fine for a week," she admitted with a sideways grin. "But I had to avoid the fitness test. Fitness is the one test I'm sure to fail."

"Why is that?"

"I run at top speeds of two seconds an hour."

"You can't be that bad," I protested.

"Oh, I can." She chuckled. Wiggling her hair out of her glasses, she pulled all of it up in a high ponytail. "This body may look solid, but it's made out of pizza."

Theo put both feet on the hardwood floor again. Black marks from rubber shoe soles marred the area around her sneakers like waves. Coach Fletcher appeared, chatting with Lainey and Madison. She prepared her whistle at her wrinkled lips, and I winced, preparing for its high-pitched cry.

"The less they know about my lack of athletic skill here at cheerleader camp, the better," Theo said, eying Coach warily.

The whistle blew, and we both stood up to join the shuffle.

###

Being around Becky and her friends at lunch seemed even more awkward now that I'd spent time talking to someone I actually _could_ talk to. I forced myself to interject into their conversation a bit, discussing the news I'd caught that morning about some celebrity getting arrested for her umpteenth DUI.

Then the girls started making plans to go shopping in Ann Arbor that coming weekend. They didn't invite me, and when the bell rang, I was the last one left at the table. I watched them stroll carefree out of the commons, feeling the weight of my limbs, the insistent tug of gravity. Feeling the empty hole that still burned in the space where Jenna should have been.

###

After history was Honors English, which had always been my favorite subject. Not this year. The portly teacher, Ms. Fellows, made a habit of parking herself next to the antique overhead projector. Her brother had made a living shooting documentaries about mountain climbing and cliff diving. Whenever she brought him up, and it was often, she'd get a dreamy, far-away look on her jowly face. As though she wished she'd been brave enough to go with him.

She droned about grammar, scribbling her words down with dry erase markers, filling the screen like a football recap. I couldn't stay present in the dark. My mind drifted, and my thoughts came to rest on Jenna. I'd turned every word she said to me over a thousand times, like an old coin. But I still felt like I was missing something. The exact phrase or moment Jenna decided to run always eluded me, and the more time passed, the more I couldn't help but forget.

###

When I walked into art room B at the end of the day, Theo patted the seat next to her. An inviting smile spread across her face. It was a stark contrast to the first day of school, which seemed like ages ago.

I promptly scrambled beside her, happy to be a little farther away from Lainey and Henry. We pulled out our sketchbooks in preparation. My cockeyed attempts were marred with holes and thin spots in the paper from erasing and redrawing. I glanced at Theo's sketchbook as she was shuffling through the pages.

Her work instantly both impressed me and made me deeply jealous. Drawings already crammed the pages—birds, horses, a strange, exotic fish with looping fins. She casually settled on a page with a detailed drawing of human lungs.

"Wow," I breathed.

"What?" she asked nonchalantly. She hadn't noticed I was eyeballing her work.

"You're so talented." I knew I was gushing, but it was honest gushing, so I felt no need to restrain myself.

She blushed, pushing her glasses up on her nose. "It's not a big deal. I just draw all the time. If you do something enough, you get better at it."

Turning to a fresh sheet, she smoothed out the paper. She'd dented three quarters of the book in only a matter of days. Her face morphed into a serious expression, as though entering creative mode.

"That's really impressive, is all," I said. I didn't want to make her uncomfortable. Her lips twitched and she shrugged, drawing a steady, thick line in the center of the sheet.

"Why don't you want people at school to know Ms. Vore is your mom?" I asked, changing the subject. I took a pencil from the plastic cup on the table, but I hesitated to draw anything.

"Wouldn't you be embarrassed if you had your mom for a teacher?"

"Well, yeah," I agreed. "When you put it that way. I get embarrassed when Claire comes up for parent teacher conferences. Last time, she grilled my teachers on where they got their certifications. I had to grab her arm and drag her outside."

"It was just another thing for people to tease me about back home," Theo said, her pencil lines getting more frantic. "I'm not Goth enough for the Goth kids. Not common enough for the regular kids. I was lucky enough to have a few good friends. Here I don't have that protection."

I nodded, fully understanding now that my own defense had disappeared.

For the rest of class, we continued to chat about our lives. She told me that her father also lived in Hell, only three houses down from her mom, in fact.

"They love each other, they just can't live together," Theo explained. "For a long time, I expected them to get back together. Eventually it became normal for them to be apart."

"Are they going to get a divorce?" I asked, instantly wincing at my own rude question.

Theo just shrugged. "Probably not. I mean, why bother when what they have is working?"

"What if they want to marry other people?" I couldn't imagine my own parents being apart, even though it seemed like the norm among most of the people my age.

"They don't exactly date much," Theo said wryly, watching her mother as though Ms. Vore might catch that her daughter was gossiping about her sex life. "But if the time comes, I'm sure they'll work it out."

She was the most down-to-earth person I'd ever had a conversation with; there were no barriers, and I sensed no pretense. When the day ended, I felt like I wasn't alone anymore, at least not at school. I no longer felt like a target, dodging around and waiting to get hit.

CHAPTER 6

ALL THE RECENT rain had made puddles out of the roads, spilling over onto the sidewalks. I dodged around the murky, standing pools on my way home. Even though the sky was overcast, it seemed like the rain had passed for the time being.

After dinner, I was downstairs finishing my homework. I tapped my pencil on the geometry worksheet, then filled in the letters of _surface area formulas_. I tried to focus on the math, but my mind kept going off in different directions and I couldn't tether it.

The last day of ninth grade captured my wandering thoughts. Jenna and I had been sitting in the front row of Mr. Calhoun's history class, talking about moving onto sophomore year. Calhoun was keeping himself busy behind his desk. He used to spit when he talked, and Jenna would joke about needing an umbrella.

It was one of those strange memories that for some reason stuck out, like the last working lights on a strand of mostly burnt out bulbs. There were several of those when I thought of her, yet I had a hard time remembering the last time we'd watched a movie or went out for pizza. Mundane things we must have done a hundred times.

Calhoun had given us the last two weeks off, merely having us complete word find puzzles to keep our hands busy and mouths shut.

"It's like rush week. It's finally over, and we survived, despite the hazing," Jenna had said, flaking off her orange polish. Her nails were always painted a different color or pattern, her way of warding off boredom.

"And look, we still have all our hair," she continued, running her hand lovingly through her springy, perfect pale brown curls. There were times I'd been jealous of Jenna's easy beauty and confidence, since I felt so awkward in my own skin. I tried not to let her know, but she probably did, anyway.

"I guess you can look at it that way," I agreed. "I'll just be happy to never be called frosh again."

"Until we get to college," Jenna warned.

Mr. Calhoun handed out pamphlets about a job seminar the school was holding in July. Jenna snatched hers up and read the summary on the back flap.

"Ever wonder what technology lies ahead?" she asked animatedly, in the voice of a commercial announcer. "You can become involved in your future starting now!"

She scoffed and crumpled the pamphlet into a ball, aiming for the garbage can. She missed by a fraction but didn't bother getting up to retrieve it.

"Like I would really want to rush right back up to Hawthorne when I'm finally free. No thanks. I wish I never had to see this place again."

"It's not that bad, is it?" I asked. "I mean, most of the time. You have track. You have sitting in the commons, eating monstrous meatloaf." Our cafeteria had cutesy, Halloween-themed names for every menu item, an idea that belonged in elementary school.

"Are you kidding me?" Her nostrils flared, like she was on the verge of losing her temper. She zipped up the purse on her desk. Mentally, I compared it to the childish backpack beneath mine. "This town is a nightmare, even if it didn't try so hard to be that way. I don't want to spend the rest of my life stuck here like my parents."

This from the person who used to have the world's most optimistic attitude. She was so obsessed with smiley faces and daisies as a kid that I endlessly teased her about it.

In my bedroom, I shifted uncomfortably at my desk chair, miles and months away from the conversation. Thinking over what she'd said now, I could see a little of what everyone else claimed to. Why they thought she had run away and not simply disappeared. Jenna was headstrong and always determined to get what she was after. Even if that meant evaporating, and destroying any trace of her steps.

The way she'd acted then was the beginning of the rift between us, little cracks in the smooth facade of our friendship. I had tried not to notice her mood swings, thinking denial was my best defense. I knew now that was my biggest mistake.

THUD.

I jumped, rudely yanked out of my recollection. Something had pounded the wall above my desk. I pushed my chair back and stood up, staring at the white stucco.

THUD.

Maybe it was the water heater. I was pretty sure that and the furnace were on the other side of the wall. I waited. For a few seconds, it seemed like the sound had stopped, maybe been a fluke. Maybe—

THUD.

I flinched, fear speeding through my veins again. My hands felt clammy and I realized I was clenching and unclenching them rapidly. I thought of the night when I had awakened, certain that someone waited in the dark. I was being watched now, too. Beads of sweat broke out across my forehead, yet a cold chill swept through me.

Swallowing hard, I stood still. I could feel the presence of someone—or something—right behind me. I turned my head slowly, inch by inch, not wanting to see but not able to stop myself from looking.

I was alone. But I found no solace in it. The hot sweat bathing my face went cold. Jogging out of my bedroom, the door banging behind me, I fled to the basement stairs. I had to stop myself from racing up, not wanting to alarm my parents.

"Hey, did you drop something in the kitchen?" I yelled up to Claire. "Or several somethings?"

I already knew her answer, but I had to investigate reasonable possibilities.

"No, why?" she called back down, her voice curious. I heard the water in the kitchen sink shut off.

"I just heard a couple of loud sounds." I peered back from where I'd come. My eyes convinced me I saw a ghoul tearing out of my bedroom, racing towards me. I blinked, the microscopic logic in my brain reasserting itself.

"It wasn't up here. It could have been outside. The wind picked up and the deck chairs are getting knocked all over," Claire explained. "Hugh is going to have a mess tomorrow morning, I don't think he'll be happy."

Well, it could have been the persistent wind, had the thudding sound not been right above my desk in the middle of our basement. I glanced at the French doors and saw leaves blowing across the grass, whirling up and cascading back down again.

"Is everything okay down there, Ariel?" Claire called, her voice closer to the landing.

"Everything is fine," I shouted hastily. "Just fine."

After a moment of hesitation, I crept back down to the end of the hall, past my room, to the little alcove beyond. The unexplained sounds hadn't stopped. Every thirty seconds or so, there was another rumbling thud. Each time I flinched, even though I was anticipating it.

There wasn't much in the alcove space. The water heater stood silent, the small orange-blue flame of the pilot light burning beneath. The furnace wasn't even on. Boxes of mechanical junk slouched on the floor in an untidy heap.

I went back to my room and stood in the doorway, staring at the wall.

THUD.

There was nothing that seemed to be causing it. Unless it was the same thing that made lockers open and shut at random, and strange dreams appear in my head. I rubbed my burning eyes with my fists. If I didn't stop my train of thought, it would slam right into crazy town.

I slowly strode over to the desk, eyes glued to the plain, innocuous white wall. My birthday books from Corinne were stacked on the desk by my scattered schoolwork. A skull grinned at me from the top cover. I flipped the book over, fully aware that the skull was still there, grinning its fleshless grimace. It spooked me more now that I couldn't see it.

I stood as still as I could, not easy considering I was shaking. I waited for the sound again, the rhythm eerily predictable. I shut my eyes, pushing my fear into the dark recess behind my eyelids. My own rapid breathing sounded loud in my ears.

Stillness. Quiet. I could hear the faint sound of voices from the TV upstairs, the water sliding through the pipes in the ceiling. The assault on the wall had ceased. I waited for what felt like hours and was probably only minutes, but all remained silent. The mysterious banging had stopped.

###

On Wednesday, Theo and I were walking together at Hawthorne, towards the electives hall. We had started spending more time sitting together in our few common classes and scoping each other out for easy conversation between them.

In gym that morning, Madison and Lainey ganged up on another girl with a full set of braces and an unfortunate splotchy complexion. They strategically positioned themselves on either side of the awkward girl, getting too close and making her squirm, as though trying to squeeze the sanity out of her.

"It was like Lainey and Madison went invisible," Theo complained. I knew she didn't realize it, but I heard a faint tone of reverence in her voice, too. "They just kept knocking her over. And Coach was looking everywhere except at them."

"It's not the first time I've seen Coach do that," I said. "Maybe she's a little scared of them herself."

"Have they always been such bitches?" Theo asked. She pulled down the flaps of the goofy hat she was wearing. It was shaped like a monster, with arms that wobbled down beside her ears. "They're experts."

"You don't get that mean without lots of practice," I said, shaking my head. "But maybe not the level of bitch they're cultivating now, no. They have been awfully active lately."

"Like a yeast infection."

"Uh, sure. I try to ignore them, like the adults preached in kindergarten, you know," I continued. "Ignore the bullies and they'll stop picking on you?"

"That's what my mom always says," Theo agreed, nodding.

"Yeah. My parents, too. The problem with that little theory is that I've been ignoring them for the last ten years, and it hasn't ever worked. If anything, they've only found new, innovative ways to torture us."

"But what other choice do we have?" Theo wondered aloud. The monster's arms wiggled again, as if to emphasize her point. "Fight back? I doubt that's an option here at the Hell County Club."

A crowd of people blocked the hallway in front of us, preventing us from going past. Not unusual, since certain members of Hawthorne's student body believed they owned the place.

"What's going on here?" Theo asked no one in particular. Standing up on her tiptoes in her sneakers barely got her shoulder height to most of the lanky, athletic builds responsible for the blockage.

I stepped around the boys in the back, trying to ascertain what all the fuss was about. A few freshman scurried away from the crowd like insects under a lamp.

Ambrose Slaughter had pinned another boy up against the wall by his shirt collar. I groaned. Theo looked at me, obviously wondering who this pretty, awful boy was. I knew Ambrose had been keeping too low of a profile, considering last year he had bloodied more than one kid's nose in the first month.

"Are you deaf?" Ambrose barked in the freshman boy's face. "Do you have a listening problem?"

Ambrose was tall for his sixteen years, and that made his intimidating persona that much worse. He slammed the other boy, whom he easily outweighed by thirty pounds, into a line of paper letters and musical notes. The paper fluttered to the floor and was scattered by the boy's shuffling feet. Ambrose's muscled biceps flexed, looking like tree branches.

"N-no, no," the boy stuttered, his voice breaking. "I can hear you. I hear everything you say." His eyes were wide and frightened, his head lowered submissively, like a wounded animal.

But Ambrose was apparently incapable of recognizing submission. "Then what is the issue? Because you obviously have one." The tone of his voice was so nasty it made me cringe. He wrenched the other boy's shirt, and the sleeve tore with a loud rip.

Fat tears rolled down the threatened boy's ruddy face. His crying elicited cruel laughter from the crowd surrounding them, and that egged Ambrose on.

"So, you're a crybaby, too?" he snarled.

I noticed then, with no great shock, that Lainey and Madison were both standing by. Henry Rhodes was, too, looking out of place and yet just like the rest of them.

Seeing him there surprised me more than it should have. Part of me still held out that he was one of the good guys. My own naivety made me sick to my stomach.

"What is he going to do to him?" Theo whispered by my ear.

"Hurt him."

She was ducking behind me, but I didn't take offense to her using me as a human shield. I couldn't focus on Ambrose and his prey anymore. As I watched, Lainey leaned on Henry's shoulder. Her eyes were on Ambrose, but I had a feeling she knew I was there, witnessing her actions.

The very fact that she was touching Henry made the queasiness worse, and I squeezed my arms against my ribs. A smug smile spread over Lainey's face, contorting her beautiful features into an ugly caricature.

"You need to stay out of my way!" Ambrose yelled in the boy's face, his broad shoulders shaking. His voice made both Theo and I jump. His shuddering frame was most frightening because he was obviously holding back, and by the looks of things, not for long. The tension in the air festered into something more sinister.

Ambrose reared his tree trunk arm back to punch his prey. "I'll teach you," he growled. "A lesson you won't forget."

"Stop it!" I screamed. My hands flew up to my traitorous mouth, trying too late to catch the words.

"What are you doing, you lunatic?" Theo hissed from my shoulder.

Heat rushed into my cheeks as every hostile face in the crowd of jerks craned in my direction. Now instead of being unnoticed like I'd cherished the first week of school, everyone saw me.

Henry's lips lowered into a frown, a deep line forming between his eyebrows. His wide brown eyes met mine and he looked—what, guilty? Like a little boy caught pulling a cat's tail. Or at least standing by as his friend did it.

Ambrose smiled at me. It was the meanest smile I'd ever seen. More like a predator showing off the sharpness of his canines.

"Hi there, Ariel," he said in a mockingly civil tone. I hadn't realized he knew my name, despite the fact we'd gone to school together our whole lives. "Didn't see you standing there, little mermaid. 'Course, I don't pay much attention to losers."

Henry's eyes flickered from Ambrose to me and back again, lips pressed together in a grimace. I could see him mentally parsing out the words, and by his envious look, I thought maybe he was considering whether Ambrose was my ex-boyfriend. As if that love connection would ever happen.

"I'm sure you don't," I muttered.

"What was that?" Ambrose said, his voice escalating to a vicious yell. "Speak up! You obviously don't have a problem with shouting!"

I shrank back against Theo, stepping on her toes and making her squeak. This wasn't normal steal-your-lunch-money bullying. Pure rage poured out of Ambrose like flames, his eyes blazing. The others merely looked irritated that I'd interrupted their fun. But he was ready to pounce on me.

"Don't make me wait," Ambrose warned, his voice low and deadly. "Speak up."

Henry shrugged out from under Lainey's touch, but he didn't move any closer. His eyes were still ping-ponging back and forth, his stance that of someone ready to throw a pail of water on a fire if it spread.

"What did that boy even do to you?" I asked Ambrose, trying to inject some volume in my voice.

Ambrose's hideous crocodile smile returned, widening. He appeared to have more teeth than he should've. "He messed up my plans. Like someone else I know."

I gulped. My mouth wouldn't shut. "Does that mean you have to beat him up?"

"It's amazing what you can do when you're called to do it." Ambrose's blue gaze gripped me, putting me into a daze.

I frowned. What did he mean by—

Principal McPherson suddenly appeared beside me, his presence almost as intimidating as Ambrose's.

"Break it up, break it up," he said sternly, waving his hands. The leather elbow pads on his jacket sleeves swung wildly. "No fighting in the halls, kids. Zero tolerance means I can give out detention slips like raffle tickets."

"We weren't fighting. We were having a discussion," Ambrose said. He looked amused now, like someone had told a dirty joke. The rage had drained out of him, leaving his stance relaxed, his tanned face free of lines. He looked like he could have been in a beachy clothing commercial, carting around a surfboard and scoping for babes.

"Yeah, it wasn't a fight, it was an ambush," I said, foolishly brave now that an adult was around. Ambrose eyed me with deadly calm. "It was completely one-sided."

The bullied party was still shrinking against the wall, trying to slide through the cracks there. McPherson ignored me. He swooped his sleeves around in a circle, conducting the traffic away as the bell rang. "I see. Get to your classes. This is a place for learning, not floor entertainment."

The crowd, including Henry and Lainey, dispersed through the halls. McPherson patted Ambrose's shoulder, like an uncle to his wayward nephew.

"Let's not see anymore of this, okay? That's all now," McPherson said gently, smiling at Ambrose and revealing all of his coffee-stained teeth. "No need for such anger."

Ambrose smirked and started rolling his shirt sleeves back down. He brushed past me, glaring into my eyes again, and stuck his finger in his mouth. He slid it across the inside of his cheek, pulling it out with a pop. The urge to puke reasserted itself.

I looked back at the freshman boy, still cowering, not quite believing he'd been saved. His sleeve hung limply at the torn shoulder, his hair a messy mop. He looked so young, like he belonged in sixth grade instead of high school.

"Don't be a troublemaker," McPherson, hands on his boxy hips, scolded the boy. I expected him to start wagging his finger. "If I catch you involved in anything like this again, it'll mean suspension." He whirled and turned to me. "And you stay out of trouble too, Ms. Donovan."

My mouth dropped open in shock. The frightened freshman scuttled away, holding his shirt together and smearing his tears with the back of his free hand. McPherson strode past me, back to the cave he'd crawled out of.

"Please tell me that did not go down the way I think it did," Theo said as we jogged to art.

"I was just going to ask you the same thing," I admitted, dejected. The way things were skewed in the popular kids' favor was irritating, but I'd never seen such an obvious display.

Ms. Vore didn't seem to notice we were late; she merely smiled and greeted us as we came in. I guessed we were off the hook because Theo was her daughter. Vore shut the door behind us, trapping me in with my trouble.

I intentionally looked everywhere in class except for the desk Henry and Lainey occupied. A confusing mix of anger, hatred, and betrayal tainted my thoughts. Strange, considering I'd wanted Henry to leave me alone. He'd only given me what I'd wished for.

Which made it obvious that I had no idea what I wanted when it came to him.

Theo was upset, too. I could tell by the way her pencil tip kept snapping as she doodled. Her lips were set in a grim line, and she was currently drawing something involving knives.

"That was just unfair," Theo finally said. "Why do popular people always get a free pass?"

Ms. Vore was in the middle of describing different drawing techniques throughout the ages, and why they had come to be in vogue. I hadn't been paying the attention I usually did; there were too many quandaries bouncing around in my head.

"Because they're popular. People like them, or at least, want to be liked _by_ them," I reasoned. "I can't believe Henry was just standing there."

"What?" Theo asked, stopping her sketching hand.

"Henry Rhodes. He was just standing there."

"Oh. I didn't even notice him."

I felt embarrassed that I had, especially since I'd focused on him so intently. Theo and I had talked on prior occasions about him, with Theo agreeing that he was very cute but untouchable.

"Maybe he had an excuse," Theo offered, hiding a little behind her hair.

"Like what? He had a leg cramp and couldn't move?"

"Who knows? Sometimes it's better not to assume things, though, no matter how obvious they look." I wondered briefly what had brought her to that theory.

"That's very deep of you," I said.

"I try," she said, with a little grin. She pushed her bright hair back behind her ears.

Her pencil began moving in a flurry of short strokes. The knife was abandoned on a former page, and now she was drawing a girl falling out of a tall tree. On the ground beneath the girl were the remnants of broken wings.

Her art made me stunningly aware of my lack of artistic talent, but I didn't mind. I was just amazed that anyone could create that kind of beauty with the same instrument I used to doodle.

"He and Lainey seem to be best buddies, though," Theo said, peering over at the table that I'd been trying to avoid. "Maybe they bonded over their spectator status."

I chanced a peek at the back of Henry's head. He ran his hand through his carefully tousled hair, and I wondered for an impractical second if he could feel me watching him. A flush crept up my chest and over my cheeks.

"And also—" I began.

"Ms. Donovan, repeat back to me what I just said."

Ms. Vore was standing in front of our table, her arms crossed against her argyle sweater. I slowly lifted my eyes to her face, feeling utterly powerless. Nothing could save me now.

"Um, techniques. Throughout...the times...of art. Art techniques. Monet was in there, somewhere." I was fully aware of how lame I sounded. The blush on my cheeks burned deeper. I was horrible at coming up with answers on the spot.

"What artist was I just discussing? Give me his name." Her uncharacteristically monotonous voice went with her 'I am not amused' face. She peered over the top of her glasses at me.

I wracked my brain desperately for an answer, but came up dry. The only thought that popped into my head was a random jingle from a drycleaning commercial. The only artists whose names I could remember were Hugh and Theo.

Vore pushed her glasses up, a gesture that was pure Theo. She looked down her nose at me, squinting harshly.

"In the future, I suggest you pay more attention to your education, instead of staring at Mr. Rhodes. You can do that on your own time, like the other girls. Instead, focus on your artwork."

She was smiling now, the corners of her lips turned up. Everyone else in class broke into actual laughter. A phantom of my embarrassment rushed into my chest, but I knew there was no threat of tears.

Henry turned around in his seat, a look of confusion on his face. For a brief moment, our eyes met, and my stomach swan dove. Slowly, his full lips curved into an alluring smile.

Heading back up to her desk, Vore said, "And the answer was Cezanne." She clucked her tongue.

"I wasn't...staring..." I sputtered, but she had already moved on, continuing with her instruction at the chalkboard. Theo patted my back sympathetically.

I hadn't been staring, not really. There was a distinct difference between looking and staring and the difference was obvious, right? I had no idea how I'd sit through class with people pointing at me and making jokes behind their hands. Maybe I'd pass out right there and Vore could ship me off to the nurse's station.

Staring down at my wasted sketchbook, I wished I could dive into the empty pages, as if I never existed at all.

CHAPTER 7

THEO STUCK AROUND after class, as the rest of the student body fled the school. "That's why I almost skipped art," she told me bluntly. "My mom is nice most of the time, but she also thinks her life is a movie, and the rest of us are just extras."

"Oh."

"But I couldn't skip it," Theo continued, running a finger over old paint splatters on her side of the table. "Art is the closest thing I have to faith."

"It's all right," I assured her. "I can't do anything about it now. I should have been paying attention."

I gathered my supplies as slowly as possible, so I could avoid anyone remaining out in the halls. Gossip spread like fire through dry brush at Hawthorne, and between this and my face-off with Ambrose, I'd be a prime target.

"I'm kind of impressed you didn't cry," Theo said, studying my face like a photograph. "If it were me, I totally would have squirted Niagara Falls."

I neglected to inform her that crying wasn't an option for me anymore. She said goodbye and glared at her mom on the way out as they left together. I was the last one to leave the room.

But I was in for a shock as I walked into the hall. Henry stood casually across the way, in the darkened woodshop doorway. Wood chips and plexiglass fragments littered the space beneath his red sneakers.

He was engrossed in his phone, texting with his thumbs. The smell of his cologne was faint but extremely pleasant. I almost wanted to stand there and stare at him, but then I mentally slapped myself.

Was he waiting for me? I hoped not. I hoped so. I needed to get out of there.

I hurried out past him, trying to avoid catching his attention. But in an instant, he was strolling next to me, shutting the phone and sliding it in the front pocket of his dark-washed jeans.

"In a hurry?" he asked pleasantly.

"Yes." _To get away from you_ , I thought but didn't say.

"Art class was interesting today," he hinted, still with the same infuriatingly cheerful tone of voice. His gigantic smile was back, framed by pillowy lips. "Really fascinating notes."

"Okay, now you _are_ irritating me," I said, scowling. This only made him laugh loudly, the sound bouncing off the lockers. I spun around to face him, aware that we were the only two people left in this part of Hawthorne. My heart fluttered, but not in an enjoyable way.

"I wasn't staring at you. I was talking to my friend about how you just stood by while that kid got the crap kicked out of him. And I happened to be looking in your direction while doing so."

His handsome face fell, lower lip jutting out almost in a pout. "What was I supposed to do?" he asked softly.

"I don't know, stop him?" I couldn't believe the anger that came from nowhere. All the time brimming below the surface of my calm thoughts.

"I don't want to step on anybody's toes," he explained. "There's this whole power structure in place here. It's very cult-like, if you haven't noticed."

"Of course I've noticed." I tried to put some distance between our walking bodies, but he kept up with me, matching my stride. We were about the same height, with him maybe an inch taller than I. His build was slender, with long arms and legs, almost awkward but somehow fitting him perfectly.

"But if Ambrose had gone any further..." He didn't finish the sentence.

"He has a temper like his father's," I said. I remembered the notorious public fits Ambrose's father had thrown at his car dealerships when he felt like someone was trying to cheat him. The stories had been splashed across the gossip page, and then disappeared abruptly, presumably due to a wad of cash being shoved in the reporters' pockets. "I don't understand how you can be friends with those people."

"I'm friends with lots of different people. You and I, for example, I would consider friends."

"You haven't even talked to me since day one, and now we're friends?" I asked skeptically.

"I was giving you your space," he said defensively. "Don't girls like that? It just seemed like I was coming on too strong, and I didn't want to freak you out and make you run away."

I halted my steps, not believing what I was hearing. My skin flushed warm again, and I wanted to duck my head so he didn't see. "You know that power structure you mentioned? It means we shouldn't even be talking, unless you want to harass me for my lack of style."

"Yeah, what's up with those pants, anyway?" he asked teasingly, capturing my gaze so I couldn't look away.

It was hard to glare at someone so cheerful and attractive. I managed it, though. It didn't seem to faze him; he knew he had some kind of hold on me, even if I didn't understand it myself.

"How did your talk in the office go that day?" I asked softly, leaning closer to him.

"The cute animal part was a good suggestion." His mouth was meant for smiling. "They let me off."

His phone rang, and he yanked it out of his pocket, sighing in exasperation. He looked at the screen and rolled his eyes.

"I have to take this," he said. "But I want to keep talking later, okay?"

He pressed the phone to his ear and headed swiftly for the exit. Halfway there, he spun around and locked my gaze again.

"Especially now that I know you don't need space, you just want me closer." He bit his bottom lip and grinned. "Promise me."

I couldn't tell if he was teasing or being serious. My entire body was trembling excitedly, and I bobbed my head. "Okay, I promise."

Almost immediately I felt guilt assault me again. Standing still in the hallway, the afternoon light filtering from the classrooms, I watched his retreating figure. I was staring down a long tunnel with only one way to go, my destination unknown. All I could do was keep moving forward and wait to discover where the path led.

I realized my backpack felt much too light, and I still needed to get my homework and books. Backtracking through the deserted halls, I made it to my locker.

The combination lock was often fussy, but today it opened right up. I'd nearly forgotten about the locker incident the first day. Now it seemed like a silly thought, something that I only imagined remembering.

After I'd jammed my backpack full, I slammed the locker and headed out. I passed a set of doors marked _Basement Access_. A sturdy, steel chain was snaked between the handles, a heavy padlock keeping it in place. A notorious hideaway where kids would go down to make out or smoke, I wasn't surprised it had been closed off.

Then the voices started. Not too loud—whispers, really—but there were definitely people speaking. I stopped moving and listened hard.

I could almost make out words, but I couldn't tell if the speakers were male or female, or how many there were. For all I knew, it could have been very smart mice. The whispers seemed to be coming from behind the door and yet, through a trick of acoustics, from beside me.

Pressing my ear flat against one of the basement doors, I listened. The voices stopped instantly, startling me into yanking back. My breath hitched in my chest, picking up speed. I smashed my ear against the door again, harder. Listening for anything at all, a pin drop.

There wasn't a sound.

###

I was surprised to see Claire when I arrived home. The combined scents of bayberry room spray and strong cleaner met my nose. It had been drizzling outside again and my damp hair was frizzing from the chilly rain.

"Hello, stranger. How was school?" she asked, her voice floating to me from the kitchen.

"It was school. Same as always."

"Very funny." She appeared with a glass of iced tea. "I mean, how have things been going? I haven't seen you that much lately."

"Classes are fine," I shrugged my backpack off and sat down at the table. "I'm getting good grades so far, especially in English."

"I'm expecting an A there no problem," Claire said dismissively, waving her manicured hand. "How about math?"

"We had our first test on Monday. I got a C." I'd received the paper back just today, which dashed my hopes that I'd done well.

She groaned. "Not already, Ariel..."

"Mom, you know how it is for me."

She bit the inside of her cheek in irritation. Whenever I slipped and called her by her parental title, it seemed to upset her. Every time she heard "mom" it made her feel old. Every time I had to call her Claire, I felt like a telemarketer.

" _Claire_ ," I amended, "You know that I'm not good at math. I never have been, never will be."

"You're so smart, Ariel. Don't make excuses. You could be good at anything if you just put in the effort and tried." She was getting dramatic with the hand gestures.

"I do try!" I protested. She didn't look convinced, scoffing at me. "I studied for hours, I swear."

"Cramming at the last minute is no way to study." She already had me all figured out, and there was no changing her mind.

Pulling out a box of toaster pastries from the pantry, I popped two in the toaster and held the lever down, watching the wire coils glow orange.

"You don't have to be so defensive," Claire said, following me into the kitchen. Our house was too small to adequately get away from her probing.

"How am I being defensive?" I asked, rolling my eyes. I wouldn't have dared do it if she'd been aware. "I'm making a snack."

"You're avoiding me. Like you always do when I try to talk some sense into you." She pulled a pitcher filled with iced tea and floating lemon slices out of the fridge and topped off her glass. "I just want what's best for you."

"I know," I muttered, uncomfortable. Every conversation with Claire turned into drama; there was just no avoiding it. My toaster pastries popped and I took them out, biting into one and feeling the hot, gooey paste stick to my teeth.

She grabbed her briefcase off of the counter, and was preparing to retreat into her office. I decided to bring up what Hugh and I had found in the basement, the file that had disappeared into Claire's possession. I hadn't had the guts or the opportunity to bring it up yet.

"Have you used your exercise room?" I ventured.

"No, I haven't had a chance."

"Well, when Hugh and I were going through the boxes," I began, "I found one full of photos."

"Photos of what?" She'd paused, and was gazing at me curiously, like I was a caged animal at the zoo whose door had been left open. Her iced tea was in one hand, briefcase in the other. I wondered what incriminating photos she thought might exist, then brushed off that disturbing thought.

"Just you and Corinne. I can't believe how bad the fashion was back then." I was trying to make a joke, but my nervous giggling ruined it. Her face only grew more tense, hard lines etched between her brows.

"The photos weren't what interested me, though," I continued cautiously. "There was a folder at the bottom with Grandma's name on it."

"Mom's medical documents." A few drops of iced tea sprinkled on the tile, on top of the rose pattern like dirty rain. Her hand was shaking. "I took care of them."

"Was there something wrong with Grandma? Hugh wouldn't even let me look at them." It intimidated me to confront her directly, but there was no stopping now. Still, I couldn't make eye contact, looking instead at the floor.

"No. She was healthy up until she died," Claire said evenly. "Healthy as a horse. She swore by two gin soaked raisins every day. I think she would have lived to be a hundred if it weren't for the accident."

Protesting too much. Far too much. The grandfather clock in the dining room ticked off seconds of loaded silence.

"But..." I started.

"Your father thought I'd want them for insurance purposes, Ariel. That's all. Now I'm behind on emails. Can we chat about this later?" Her voice was low and oddly cold.

I nodded, feeling numb. There would be no later; it was just a graceful dodge, permanently shutting down the topic. She swept out of the room, and I heard the office door shut.

The spilled iced tea was drying on the floor in sticky brown splotches. Looking at them reminded me of her shuddering hand. Grabbing a dishcloth, I scrubbed the floor vigorously until the spots were gone.

###

I convinced Claire to give up control of the computer after dinner. Instead, she sat down in front of the TV, a blank look on her face and a glass of red wine beside her. I wondered what I'd stirred up to upset her. Maybe it was just work and had nothing to do with my questions. But I doubted it.

The years were long gone when I could just sit down and have a heart to heart with my mom. I didn't know if things would ever be that way between us again, and that thought made me sad. Though not as much as perhaps it should have.

In the office, the only light came from a Tiffany-style table lamp on a standing shelf full of office supplies. Three file cabinets filled with every important and unimportant record of our lives sat beside a spacious desk with a hutch.

I pulled the rolling chair out and sat down. I didn't bother with Jenna's profile, for once. I'd told my parents that I needed the computer for homework, but instead I went to a search engine.

_Ghosts_ , I typed in, knowing that was as vague as it got. But I had to start somewhere. I scrolled through the results. Movie titles, grainy amateur videos, and stories from olde England and Scotland, about cursed castles and crumbling graveyards. Interesting, but not what I as looking for. I narrowed my search to _Real life ghost sightings._

I found a few sites, but most of them seemed to be written by people who were loopy, the kind that appeared on old psychic commercials promising to tell your future for $5.99 a minute after the first five minutes free.

Then I clicked on a site from a medical journal. _Hallucinations and paranoia_ were listed as symptoms of psychosis.

"Hearing voices, hallucinations, seeing things that aren't there," I read aloud. "Vivid dreams, trouble identifying reality." Anxiety had crept up on me again.

I closed that window down and opened another. I'd always heard that crazy people didn't know or even suspect that they were crazy. But maybe that was just another of those things people said to make themselves feel better.

Checking my email, I didn't find much. I was the recipient of the world's most creative spam, however. Many princes offered me a million dollars if I would be so kind as to send a bank account number.

I thought back to the week after Jenna disappeared. Claire and I had been standing in the kitchen, much like we had been today. The door had been open, letting in the smell of hot July sunshine and joyriding car exhaust. Hot dogs were cooking outside, and the sound of Hugh scraping the grill had set my teeth on edge.

"I don't believe her," I said, referring to Jenna's mother, Rachel.

"She says it's all there in the emails," Claire said. "Jenna was planning to go out of state. She was talking to some college guys there." She stared down the bridge of her nose at me. "Have you two been hanging out with older men?"

"No! Of course not! What are you even talking about?" I couldn't stop scratching a spot on my wrist, the spot around my hair tie. It itched relentlessly.

"Are you telling the truth? Because if you're lying..."

"I'm not lying!" I burst, fed up with Claire's accusations. "It doesn't matter because you're just going to assume I am. You never believe me."

I turned away, unable to look at her, her milky eyes so full of mixed emotions. She always found a way to blame things on me or my actions. Like I wasn't caught in an ocean of guilt already.

"Can I see the emails?" I asked.

"Why?" Claire's voice was tired. She stirred mayonnaise into the potato salad she was making, her shoulders sagging.

"Because it doesn't sound right. Jenna may have been acting distant lately, but she wouldn't up and run off. I've been saying that from day one."

"Jenna was obviously troubled," Claire said resolutely.

"You barely knew her," I said angrily. I felt a familiar stab of loyalty for Jenna, the urge to protect her honor. "I want to read these emails."

"Rachel said she printed them off and turned them over to the police. And she's also hinted that you and Jenna were bad for each other. I don't think it would be a good idea."

No amount of pleading with either my mom or Rachel, who would barely talk to me, would give me a glimpse of the emails. I didn't know if I believed Rachel's claim or not; I didn't know what to believe, like I'd told Claire.

I'd always had the sneaking suspicion that Jenna's mom didn't like me. Even as a little girl, I felt like she was uncomfortable with me in her house, eating peanut butter and jelly at her table. She had a glossy, fake grin whenever she spoke to me, the kind that made her look permanently constipated. Jenna avoided the issue whenever I'd ask, which only made me more sure that Rachel disliked me.

During the search party, Rachel and Jenna's father, Joe, paid no attention to me. They had spoken instead with Becky and Sarah and their families, even though I was Jenna's best friend. The adults had conversed over my head in the dark, flashlights bobbing around us like falling stars. I wondered if they wished I'd been the one to vanish.
CHAPTER 8

LUCKILY, NO ONE cared about my Henry fixation in school. There was other news for everyone to gossip about instead: a little girl had gone missing at the bus stop on Friday. It wasn't a normal thing for children to go missing in our area. Hell had good neighborhoods, where people didn't always lock their doors and they knew all the neighbors on the block by name.

At lunch, Theo and I passed by Becky's table. Becky and I made eye contact, but when she saw Theo, she no longer looked welcoming. I ushered Theo away before she noticed Becky's unfriendly glare. We looked over the crowded commons, but the tables were full as usual.

"Maybe we should skip lunch?" Theo said, fidgeting nervously. Random chunks of her hair were braided and tied with pastel bows.

"I'm not giving them the satisfaction," I said resolutely, gripping my tray.

I marched back to the far wall of the expansive room and sat down. Theo joined me on the chilly white tile. It was my official dismissal from my old friends, but I knew our connections had been severed long ago.

###

In art, the assignment was to sketch a realistic portrait of our seatmate. Theo offered to go first, which was good since I was very nervous about even attempting to draw her. I felt like it would be an insult. As she outlined a vague oval of my face, we made small talk.

"I think I'm going to fail geometry this year," I said.

"Hold still," Theo admonished me. I tried to freeze, but my head kept shaking. "Why is that?"

"This morning Mr. Vanderlip kept me after class to lecture me about my abysmal quiz score."

"That's no good," Theo said sympathetically. I wondered if she realized how gracefully her hand moved as she drew, making it look effortless. "I'd offer to help, but I don't do that great in math myself. I usually pull a little over a C. It's still early, though...."

"Here's me donning my pessimist hat. It's this early, and I'm already doing that badly." I blew up my cheeks and let the air out. Telling Theo made me realize how serious it was.

Henry sauntered past our table then, causing me to straighten my spine. I'd gotten to the point where I could identify him just by seeing his cavalier walk in my periphery vision. He started digging in the supply cabinet behind our table.

"You still have plenty of time to pull up your grade, storm clouds," Theo said with a lopsided grin. She pushed her pencil against my cheek. "Stop wiggling."

"Sorry." I tried even harder to sit still, but the shaking vibrated in my chest. Henry being so near made it impossible to focus. My eyeballs were practically magnetized to go towards him.

"You're tilting your chin too much now. Tilt it back down." This time she pushed her pencil gently against my skull.

"He told me I should get a tutor," I said, maneuvering my head as she'd requested. "But I don't know where to find one. And I have no cash. My parents could afford it, I guess, but I don't really want to ask them."

"Maybe ask one of the seniors?" she suggested. She shut one eye and held her pencil vertically up to my nose.

Suddenly, Henry came around and put his elbows on the side of the table across from me. He leaned his face in his hands, fists squishing up his cheeks. I tried to ignore how cute it made him look, blood thundering in my ears.

"May we help you?" I asked, and Theo snickered.

"I couldn't help but overhear," he said.

"You couldn't help but eavesdrop," I corrected.

"Call it what you want. But geometry is my second favorite subject, right up there next to physics," Henry explained, face still propped up by his hands. "If you ever need any help, I'd be happy to offer my qualified services."

He grinned at me, turning his charm up another notch. Not like he needed any help.

"You want to be my tutor?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. The day was suddenly veering off into the bizarre.

"Sure, why not? Plus it would require some of that closeness you so desperately want." He sucked his cheeks in, then smirked at me.

"What are you—you're the one said that, not me," I said, flustered. I shifted on the art stool. Funny how the only times I felt abashed around Theo had to do with Henry Rhodes.

"Relax, I'm teasing." He stood up, rapping his knuckles on the table. Up close I noticed how beautiful his hands were. Rigid veins trailed like rivers beneath his unmarred skin. Really, he had beautiful everything.

"If you can handle being around me for long without wanting to run far away, it might help you out," he said.

"I don't know if that's possible," I said dryly. Although I was attempting to tease back, I could feel my pulse race in a peculiar way. Unlike the first day I'd met him, now his attention wasn't so unwanted. It still made me self-conscious, but I also felt giddy.

Henry lowered the already deep register of his voice to a throaty whisper, his gaze capturing mine. "Maybe I won't let you run away."

My chest tightened, my breath catching. I had no idea what to say. I couldn't look away from him.

After a second, he broke into his usual smile, his eyes softening. "Okay, that was too big bad wolf, huh? I try for cool and it comes out corny."

"It was a bit corny," Theo said. I'd almost forgotten she was sitting beside me, that we were in the middle of school. Henry laughed, clear as a bell. It hadn't been the least bit corny to me.

"I'd be grateful not to flunk," I piped up. I really did need the help. So what if it came from someone cute? It didn't make the potential knowledge any less useful. As long as I could focus enough on the math to retain it.

"Good. Here's my number." He flipped to a blank page in my sketchbook and scribbled the digits upside down, so that they were right side up for me.

"Text me when you figure out a good day and time. You can have me whenever you want."

His last words were the last straw. My mind was officially blown. He picked up the reference book he'd gotten out of the supply cabinet and returned to his seat. I felt like I'd just been dosed with tranquillizers. A heady sensation of giddiness sped up my torso.

I ran my index finger over the penciled numbers, not believing they were real. The graphite smudged. Theo whacked me on the arm, knocking me out of my reverie.

"Ow."

"He totally wants you, you know that right?" Her voice was high and excited. "What I just witnessed was basically verbal foreplay."

"He does not want me!" I said in a loud whisper. The girls at the next table glared at us; I tried my best to smile so that they would look away. "He's just kidding. Lainey has him tightly ensnared in her web."

I wiggled my fingers like spider legs. "If I lay so much as one finger on Henry, that finger is as good as torn off."

Henry put one knee on his seat, kneeling as if ready to propose. He looked back at me and quickly flicked his eyebrows up, smiling again as he shifted and settled the rest of the way down.

Theo rolled her eyes and started putting the finishing touches on my picture. "Yeah, you keep on denying it, Ariel."

The whole walk home, I debated my interpretation of the scene between Henry and me. With Jenna no longer around, it was possible that I was gullible. She had always been my logic, offering me advice that was usually solid.

What other interpretation was there? Like Theo had said, he seemed to be very obvious about liking me. But I'd never had boys interested in me before. Not like I was hideous or anything...more like invisible. I didn't try to look airbrushed, and boys normally considered me one of them.

Claire was standing in the living room all dressed up when I arrived. She was wearing her best red dress, which I'd only seen to my recollection twice before. She looked fantastic, the color brightening her dull, office-pale skin. Rhinestone earrings dangled from her ears.

"You look pretty. What's up?"

"Go up and ask Hugh," she said with a secretive smile. "It's his news. Oh, and ask him for my necklace, too, the one that matches these earrings."

I went upstairs to my parents room at the end of the hall. I rarely ventured to the second story, except on laundry day or to talk to Hugh in his studio. Across from each other were Hugh's studio, smelling of paint and varnish, and the guest room. Along the walls, monochromatic art that Hugh had painted for my mom years ago was displayed.

In his room, Hugh was trying to fix the crooked knot in his tie, studying himself in an antique mirror next to the armoire.

"Claire wants her necklace," I said from the doorway. I leaned against the frame, the latch biting my lower back. "The one you bought her last Christmas."

He dropped the sides of the tie and rummaged around in her jewelry box. He tossed me the glittery object, then resumed his place before the mirror.

"What's the big deal?" I asked. "Why do you guys look like you're going ballroom dancing?"

It must have been really important—Hugh hated wearing ties. The dog collar of the Man, in his opinion.

"You know how I've been trying to wrangle Deborah Strait for months?" he asked.

"Vaguely. She's the lady who paints sad dog faces, right?" I sat on the edge of their black and white bedspread.

"Spirit animals," Hugh said, rolling his eyes a little. "They're very popular. Anyway, Gwen worked her magic, and Deborah has finally agreed to have a few of her paintings shown at Erasmus."

Gwen Walls was his assistant at the gallery. She probably should have been co-owner, considering how much time and work she put into its success. She often put in longer hours than my father, traveling to different states to find unique, fresh pieces.

"That means press and attention," he continued. "Not to mention a little more money coming our way."

He had finally finished (or given up on) his tie, although it still hung unevenly. "We're going out to celebrate. Which means you have"—he shrugged his suit sleeve down and checked his watch—"Twenty minutes to get ready."

"Are we going anywhere fancy?"

"Just Blind Devil. If you behave yourself, I might even green light mozzarella sticks."

"I'll be on my best behavior," I said, propelling myself off of the bed before I got too comfortable.

"Wear your black dress, Claire likes that one," he coached.

"Too bad you got rid of that spiffy blue suit," I teased. He glared at me. "What? It would have been perfect for celebrating."

I brought the necklace back down to Claire, who was busy carefully applying an O of red lipstick in the bad light of the downstairs bathroom. I couldn't remember the last time we'd gone out as a family. Over a year ago, at least.

Taking the world's quickest shower, I fled down two flights with wet hair to get dressed. Blowing my hair as dry as I could in five minutes, I finally settled on throwing it up in an old butterfly clip. A few wisps escaped and frizzed around my face.

When I was finished and rejoined my mother, Claire was rummaging through her expensive leather purse. She looked up and studied my appearance, squinting when she noticed the frizzy halo.

"Why don't you put on Grandma's necklace? You haven't worn it once yet." She seemed hurt, like I had rejected her gift.

"I didn't want to lose it at school. The clasp seems a little flimsy." Both statements were true; I was frightened that if anything happened to the necklace, Claire would kick me out on the street.

I went down and retrieved the old chocolates box on top of my dresser where I kept my jewelry. A fine layer of dust had settled on top. Inside, the necklace lay in the white box I'd received it in. The green stone glittered, darker than I remembered it.

I put it around my neck and secured the tricky hook and eye clasp. It was heavier than it appeared, even with the delicate silver chain. The oblong pendant fell in a flattering way just above the cleavage I hoped to have someday.

Claire was sitting on the recliner, engrossed in the five o'clock news. She was playing with the rhinestones on her necklace, and I stood beside her to glimpse what was so interesting.

A pixelated photo of a little girl was splashed across the screen, her smile revealing a missing front tooth.

"Alyssa Chapman was last seen in a blue raincoat and galoshes outside of Three Fires Middle School on Monday," the reporter said. They showed a shot of people milling in front of the school, then one of the mother's scared face as she answered questions from reporters.

"I heard about that at Hawthorne," I murmured.

Claire ingested every word as the reporter spoke, hardly aware she was still jangling her rhinestones. "That's your old middle school."

"I know."

"It's just so sad," she said, her hand plucking at the skin of her throat. "Her mother must be so frightened."

Hugh appeared, swiftly aiming the remote at the screen and flicking it off. A ghost of the image remained for a second. Claire and I looked at Hugh. He was no longer wearing a tie.

"Dinner," he said. "I'm starving."

###

Blind Devil was Hugh's favorite restaurant, casual and greasy. It was always packed on the weekends, but it wasn't too bad this evening. There were actually empty parking spaces in the small lot.

"Since I only have this one dress, can we finally go shopping?" I asked Claire as Hugh navigated into a narrow space. I didn't bring up my need for fashionable gym attire.

Claire's attention seemed to be miles away. She stared out of the window at other cars. "Of course."

It was the usual _someday_ way she spoke in when she didn't want to deal with the issue at hand.

"I'm just saying, I can't sew. And I can't exactly make new clothes out of notebook paper and tape."

"Speaking of which, how is art class going?" Hugh asked, looking at me in the rear view mirror as the engine cut off. His seat belt clicked open.

"Oh, delightfully," I said flatly.

"Don't get too excited, Ariel," Hugh said sarcastically.

"You know me, the born artiste."

"And I have the candy dishes to prove it." The problem was, I didn't know if he was entirely kidding.

Blind Devil took being in Hell as seriously as the next small business. A child-sized red imp wearing a waiter's costume was positioned in the front window, holding up a tray of neon flames. Red lights shaped like chili peppers hung around the frame, offering a warning about spicy dishes.

All the waitresses wore shiny red horns and pointed triangle tails poked out of their black pants.

"I always forget how classy this place is," Claire said. "I hope I'm not under dressed."

"Oh, shush," Hugh said, squeezing her hand fondly. "You know you like their food. It's better than that awful French place."

"Andiamo is not awful," Claire argued, squeezing his hand back. "It's haute cuisine."

"It is a guaranteed trip to the bathroom," Hugh said.

"Ew." I wrinkled my nose.

In the waiting area, red wallpaper was crowded with photos of people posing in Blind Devil bibs. A wall of shame, really. I sat down and watched a few mammoth black koi swimming around in the ceiling-tall fish tank.

Soon we were seated at a booth, where the bubbly blonde waitress distributed our menus, replete with orange foil flames.

"I'll be back when you guys have decided," she said cheerfully, ponytail swishing. "Take your time."

As I skimmed down the list, I read off the Halloween-themed titles that were much like the offerings in the Hawthorne cafeteria line. I decided on banshee hair, a safe bet since I knew it was plain fettuccine alfredo. After the waitress had returned and taken our orders and menus, Hugh and Claire exchanged stories about work.

Hugh mentioned how sales at the gallery were up the last few months. Claire started grilling him about who was doing their taxes next year. The same boring stuff they always talked about. I wondered how adults got through the day without falling asleep.

The waitress delivered our steaming plates of food. For a while, we made ourselves busy eating, Claire picking like a bird as usual and Hugh and me shoveling in forkfuls. The conversation flitted to the upcoming holiday.

"So many people already have decorations up," Hugh said, looking genuinely distraught. "I'm running behind this year."

For someone with artistic sensibilities, Hugh had a strange devotion to tacky lawn decorations, especially in celebration of Halloween and Christmas. Boxes upon boxes cluttered the shed and the basement, and he spent countless, dedicated hours every year adjusting lights and hanging skeletons.

"Just remember, no fog machine this year," Claire said, pointing her fork at him. "The neighborhood moms said it gave their kids allergy symptoms."

"Wimps," Hugh muttered. "I want first prize this year."

"The trees haven't even started to change yet," I groaned, making a line of artificial sweetener packets next to my plate.

"And yet everyone else is getting a foothold," Hugh countered.

"Don't any of these people realize how much they're acting like kids?" I asked.

"It's not like we instantly go gray and can only watch public television when we hit twenty," Claire said in a grouchy tone.

"Acting ridiculous is part of the fun," Hugh said. "Kids and adults aren't so different, hon. You'll see when you get there."

I was waiting, biding my time, until I finally felt like I had enough courage to ask them about the— _gasp_ —boy who wanted to be my tutor. I hadn't told them a thing about Henry Rhodes up until now.

"I got my second math quiz back," I began.

Claire looked worried. "And...? How did you do?"

"Not great. D."

She clucked her tongue, letting out a sound between a grunt and a groan. "Ariel, that's far too low..."

"But!" I said, trying to stop the lecture before it got rolling, "Mr. Vanderlip, my teacher, suggested a tutor. And I've already found somebody willing to help."

"What's her name? How are her marks? Is she a senior?" Claire fired rapidly.

"You have the mouth of a cannon, woman," Hugh said, staring at her in bewilderment. "How about you give her a chance to answer a question before you ask another one?"

Both of them looked at me expectantly. "Uh, _his_ name is Henry. He's in my grade. But he's really smart, and he offered...."

"You want a boy to come over and tutor?" Claire asked, surprised. She dabbed her lips with her napkin.

I was prepared for that reaction. "Yes. It is a coed school, believe it or not."

"I just meant, this isn't some cover-up for a date, is it?"

"Is he your boyfriend, Ariel?" Hugh asked, smirking in a condescending way that irritated me. I shoved my fork back into the twisted mass of noodles.

"No. He's just a boy. Kind of a friend. And I would prefer not to fail."

They exchanged a glance, the sort of soundless communication that passed between them often and drove me nuts. As if they spoke on a higher frequency that I was not allowed to hear.

"He's in all my Honors classes," I continued. I found myself a little desperate to get their approval. "So I know he's intelligent. And like I said, he offered."

I realized I hadn't asked Henry about whether or not he wanted to be paid, but I decided to gloss over that part. "And he said he'd do it for free," I finished.

"Well, if you really feel like you need the help," Hugh said.

"Hugh..." Claire started, but my dad put his hand on her shoulder. More wordless conversing.

"As long as your father meets him first," Claire amended.

I nodded. Distracted now by their reaction and my own thoughts, I raised a fork to my mouth but spilled the contents on the front of my dress.

"Crap." I dipped my napkin in my water glass and started to pat it on the stain, but I could already tell it was setting into an oily splotch.

I excused myself to go scrub it off. Claire almost stood up to go with me, but I gave her a stern _no_ look.

"I can handle going to the potty by myself, thank you." She lowered herself back down to the seat and resumed picking at her plate.

In the dimly lit restroom, I wet a handful of paper towels and scrubbed the stain vigorously. I couldn't tell if I'd gotten the grease out, since now the entire front of my dress was wet.

A burst of heat erupted from my necklace. It was so sudden and unexpected that I gasped, wrapping my hand around the stone. It heated up again, less warm this time, but still noticeable against my palm. Definitely a weird sensation for a piece of jewelry.

I heard something out in the hall. A shadow glided past in the crack beneath the door. Gently inching the door open, I peered into the dark wood-paneled hallway, which was lit only by small, red lamps above. A figure cloaked in shadow was rounding the corner at the end of the hall. It was a man, I could tell by his shape beneath the bulky coat, but I couldn't see his face.

I could have gone right, back into the dining area towards my parents' table. But it was like some force was pulling me the other way, telling me to follow the mysterious man in the coat.

Creeping down the hall, careful to keep quiet, I navigated around the corner. I saw another, narrower hallway with doors down the right side and a door at the end. I couldn't stop walking, even though I was fearful of being caught. The pulling sensation was palpable, like I could reach out and grab the invisible rope that had ensnared me. The person in the coat had disappeared, but I knew he was behind the last door.

Voices spoke in a low register beyond the door. I peered behind my shoulder to make sure I was alone, my heart speeding up. I put my ear to the wood, thinking of the odd whispers behind the basement access door at school. At least there were people here and not just my imagination.

"Were you followed?" A gravely voice whispered on the other side. My heart skipped a beat. Whoever these people were, they might have already found me out. I forced my breathing to slow so they wouldn't hear it.

"No. I made sure." That must have been the voice of the shadow man I followed.

"You're absolutely certain?"

"I'm not an idiot," the shadow man growled, and I realized with a chill that it was Principal McPherson's voice. I recognized it from the morning announcements.

"That's still up for debate," said a female voice. It shocked me that anyone would talk to McPherson that way, without getting a detention. "Do we have clearance?"

"As much as I can manage," McPherson said.

Another of their voices sounded familiar to me, but I couldn't place it because it was so quiet. "That's not good enough," the person barked. I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. "It has to be absolutely clean. No tracks."

They seemed to be talking in code, of a sort. It could have been my paranoia, too.

"It will be," McPherson said. "No one will know. No one knew before, did they?"

"Make sure that's the case this time. Go now."

I panicked, scrambling backwards down the hall. Turning around, I tripped over my feet as I ran. I heard the door creak open the second after I'd cleared the corner. I could only hope he hadn't seen me, but I knew I was cutting it close.

I arrived back at my family's table out of breath. Swinging into the seat, I sat on my damp napkin and groaned.

"You were gone a while. We were going to send out a search party," Hugh quipped. Claire, in the middle of texting, shot him a dirty look. The reference to Jenna completely sailed over my father's head, but I was too preoccupied to be offended. All of our food was already boxed up in a neat Styrofoam tower.

I watched out of the corner of my eye as McPherson went out the back exit, the dark trench coat he was wearing hunched up on his shoulders. The bell attached to the door dinged as he slipped outside. The restaurant was half-full of dinner patrons, but not one of them besides me noticed him.

"There was a line in the bathroom. _For_ the bathroom," I lied clumsily. They seemed to accept it without question, however, and we slipped into our coats.

As we were gathering our things to leave, I realized the necklace had gone back to room temperature. It felt weightless now.

CHAPTER 9

THEO VISITED MY side of the fence the next day, coming in to meet Hugh. She was empty handed, even though I had pestered her to bring her portfolio or one of her rapidly-filling sketchbooks.

My dad had come home from the Halloween store with bags of skulls and tombstones. Skeletal lawn flamingos poked out of one sack. He was well on his way to outdoing himself this year, not to mention all the totes he had dragged out on the yard. Currently, he was trying to untangle a strand of orange and black lights in the living room.

"Don't worry, I don't bite," Hugh said to a shy Theo. He shook the lights again, arms flapping up and down like a bird learning how to fly. He honestly didn't realize how ridiculous he looked. "I would really like to see your work, Theo. Ariel's been going on and on about your talent."

I shrugged, giving her a sheepish look.

"I hope she didn't brag me up too much," Theo said. She opened one of the bags of tiny plastic skulls and started making a circle of them on the dinner table.

"I bragged just enough," I said. Hugh smiled, distracted, and took the twisted lights out the front door, ignoring Claire's carpet rules. He started stringing them up on the front bushes.

"Did you talk to Henry yet?" Theo asked me. The circle had changed into a triangle.

"No. I don't think I'm going to." I had lost my nerve when I'd gotten home. It seemed more like a fantasy, even if I'd gotten my parents' okay. Henry's number had gone into the top drawer of my nightstand instead of into my phone.

"Why not?" she asked. "I thought you might jump on his offer. Or on him."

"Why did you think that?" I asked, taking other items out of their bags. I busied myself with crumpling the bags into little balls for the recycling bin.

"It just seems like you pay a lot of attention to him," Theo said, shrugging. "That's all. I know mom shouldn't have called you out, but she did have a point."

I winced in embarrassment, and pulled my sleeves over my hands self-consciously.

"No judgment here, though," Theo said quickly. "He's definitely hot. He's also definitely _interested_."

Hugh looked like he was struggling outside, trying to attach a blow up jack-o-lantern to an air pump. Theo and I went out to help him, abandoning the table graveyard.

After several minutes of struggling between the three of us, Hugh said, "I need to run back to the store. This hose is the wrong width. You girls hold down the fort, I'll be right back."

Backing the Mazda out of the driveway, he took off like a mad man. Theo and I sat in the grass amidst Hugh's boxes of decorations.

"Your dad really gets into Halloween, doesn't he?" Theo asked, studying pen doodles on her sneakers.

"It's pretty common around here."

"So I've noticed."

"I saw something strange last night," I told her.

"What was it?" Theo sat up on her hands, blades of grass sticking up between her fingers.

"My parents and I went out to dinner, and I saw Principal McPherson there."

"You mean he eats like a normal person?" she quipped.

"Maybe. He was sneaking around, having some kind of weird meeting behind a closed door. There were three or four other people with him, but I couldn't identify their voices."

"Even out of school he can't stop having meetings," Theo observed.

"But it wasn't normal, Theo. They weren't talking about budget cuts or banning books. There was something wrong about it. I can't put my finger on it, but he was being really suspicious." I felt like I sounded really paranoid...maybe Theo would think I was weird for paying attention to McPherson at all.

"What do you think he was up to?"

"I don't know. But I intend to find out."

###

I paced back and forth in my room on Sunday, my phone in my clenched fist. I had been repeating the same routine for twenty minutes. Maybe the number was fake? Walk, pause, look at phone, walk. Maybe Henry offering me his number was some horrible prank that Lainey and Madison concocted over a tanning session.

Finally, pushing my paranoia aside, I typed out a text and forced my thumb to hit _send_. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Except possible humiliation. Having the text forwarded to everyone in school....

The phone shook in my hand. Every second I waited for a reply, I grew more anxious. Thirty seconds later, the phone vibrated. I almost dropped it on the cement floor.

_Tomorrow after school is good_ , he replied to my suggestion.

I let out a relieved breath and sank down beside my bed. What was I doing? Maybe I was just distracting myself.

###

When I went to sleep that night, I had a different kind of dream. Henry was standing at the end of a thin ribbon of sidewalk, waiting patiently. Waiting for me. His held on to one wrist with his other hand, his posture unusually formal. A pale gray suit, fitted perfectly to his slender, athletic frame, replaced his usual sweatshirt and jeans.

It was springtime around us, petals lazily falling from flowering trees and whirling towards the ground. The grass was pastel green and bouncy, dotted with violets. I inhaled the fresh promise of a new season.

I traveled towards Henry down the sidewalk. There was nowhere else I wanted to go, nothing I wanted more desperately. His eyes were trained on my every step, but he never surrendered his position or moved an inch. I couldn't walk fast enough. My legs moved of their own accord at a sedate pace, caught on a predetermined slide.

When I reached him, relief flooded through my body. He gazed into my eyes, the brown of his irises dark and complex, lighter facets dancing within.

Our mouths met instantly, matching perfectly. He ran his hand through my hair, the strands gently tugging at my scalp. His lips were featherlight against mine, moving as though he were whispering at the same time. Then suddenly we were on my bed.

He ran his hand slowly in between the waistband of my jeans, brushing against my skin. His touch made me shiver. Our mouths broke apart and he pulled his shirt up over his head, leaving his hair messy. There was only a blur underneath, where his chest should have been.

A distracting knocking started up nearby. I tried to block it out and focus on Henry kissing me, but I couldn't ignore the sound. As much as I feverishly wanted to continue, I pulled away from him. I instantly regretted the loss of contact. "I have to go."

His face retained its patience, his eyes soft and watchful.

"I'll be right here," he assured me, his voice echoing in the open air of my room. There was no ceiling above us—I could see the darkening evening sky, lousy with stars.

I walked out and down the hallway, towards the back patio doors. I passed a girl leaning against the wall, a faceless girl in a gingham dress. Her chin-length bob hung in a solid sheet, combed over her face, obscuring her features. I didn't know her now, but I had known her later.

The knocking was getting ever louder. I had to answer, or it would drive me mad. Someone stood out in the darkness beyond the doors, but I couldn't see who.

That's when I woke up, sweat soaking my pillow. Black, heavy air filled my room, suffocating me.

###

Nerves plagued me throughout the next day, to the point where I couldn't eat lunch. I pushed the food around on my tray, listening to Theo tell a funny Vanderlip story from her math hour, and tried to laugh at the appropriate cues. The dream that I'd had about Henry made me both more aware of my feelings and more conflicted.

Henry and I didn't acknowledge each other in school, which just made the anticipation stronger. He passed me by in the hall on two occasions. Both times he didn't even look my way, but I caught the scent of his cologne, making my hands sweat, my tongue darting out to lick salt from my lips. I could almost feel his hand tugging at my hair, his insistent kiss, even if it had just been a dream.

I wondered several times if he had changed his mind. I even scrolled through my text messages under my desk to make sure his reply was still there. It was, of course.

At last, the final bell rang at the end of the day. I stayed behind at the art table, waving goodbye to Theo as she left.

"You really like to linger around, don't you?" she asked cheerfully.

"I'm a slowpoke."

I hadn't told her that Henry and I were getting together, even though she'd been there on the day he asked. I knew she'd be interested, but I was still too self-conscious to let anyone else know.

Lainey started to walk out the door, but turned back, cocoa eyes staring quizzically at Henry. I knew that they normally walked out together. I observed, almost like watching a play, as he said goodbye to her. I couldn't help but be a little pleased at the stunned look on her face as he strolled in my direction. A little afraid of her glare, I dropped my gaze to the floor.

"Are you ready?" Henry asked me softly. I nodded. "Do you need me to carry anything?"

He held out his arms, almost as if to hug me. I bit down on my grin as I hunched my backpack over my shoulder.

"No, thanks."

"Is somebody picking us up?" he inquired. He grabbed his own books as we passed his table and cradled them beneath his arm.

"I actually walk home," I said. I hadn't even though about transportation and now I felt dorky. "I don't live far." My speech stuck behind my tonsils and I cleared my throat.

"Great." The familiar smile arrived. "We can take advantage of the warmer weather before it says goodbye."

We passed out of the emptying school and through the parking lot. Out of nowhere, shyness had overtaken me, rendering me speechless. Possibly due to my obsessive thinking about him during the day, replaying a kiss that had never happened.

I watched student cars whipping out into traffic; I couldn't even glance at Henry, afraid I would either start giggling and be unable to stop, or simply faint. He didn't need to witness the severity of his affect on me.

"What did you think of the quiz in history?" he asked.

We crossed the street to the sidewalk. I shrugged, feeling the tension between my shoulders like an overstretched rubber band. The quiz hadn't been hard, just full of multiple choice questions. Why couldn't I just say that?

"Half the time, I don't know if Wick is being serious or not," he said. "I have a hard time editing my notes down with all of his stories."

When I didn't respond, Henry started up talking again. I remained mute, berating myself inside my head. What was wrong with me? I was making a fool of myself, but I didn't know how to stop it, like watching a slow-motion video of someone about to fall to their doom. I made eye contact with the sidewalk, watching silica flecks sparkle.

"What's with you?" he asked finally and stopped in his tracks. "You've barely said a word this whole time.

"Sorry," I croaked, finally turning towards him. We were looking straight into each others' eyes, since he was about the same height as me. I liked that we were on the same level.

"I don't mean to be so awkward," I continued. "I just...I've never been great at talking to guys. They all think I'm weird."

Why did I tell him that? Embarrassment rushed to color my cheeks. He smiled then, not a smirk, but a genuine, nice smile.

"Don't worry, I'm safe," he said. "Nothing freaks me out. You could tell me anything and I wouldn't think you're bizarre." He paused, as if reconsidering. "Well, almost anything. You've never murdered anyone, have you?"

A short laugh rushed out of me.

"Ha! I knew I could do it," he declared triumphantly.

"Do what?"

"Make you laugh. You're always so serious around me. You've made my day, dear." He nudged me with his shoulder.

The old-timey affection wasn't missed, nor the physical touch, but I chose to comment on neither. The dam on my words had broken, however.

"You promised you'd continue our discussion the other day," Henry reminded me.

"I did."

"Why is it so bad that I'm friends with Lainey and the others?" he inquired. "Ambrose, I understand—he's an asshole. But the rest of them seem normal."

I looked down at my shoes, the rubber soles were beginning to peel away. "They're awful."

A memory of Lainey putting gum in Jenna's hair flitted through my mind. Jenna and Lainey had been nine. Rachel had to hack half of her daughter's lovingly cultivated curls off. Jenna had sat bunched up in a chair while the scissors were snipping, sobbing into her t-shirt.

"They're not so awful," he argued.

"You haven't been here long enough. You don't know," I said bluntly. "They criticize and bully people constantly. Not to mention they act like royalty."

"Well, yeah. That's a bit of a character flaw. I know you feel like they're better than you, but...."

I felt my features snap into a look of shock until I smoothed it away. "Why do you think I feel that way?" He just looked at me. "I didn't know I was so obvious." I was slightly uncomfortable that the conversation had veered into my personal feelings, but I was intrigued, too.

"Not everything about you is obvious, but that is, if whoever is watching pays close enough attention. You hunch your shoulders. Look at people as though they're going to bite you. And you always seem to be pondering things. Not that it's bad, I like that part. I'd love to know what's going on in that brain of yours. I've seen a lot of parts of you that I have yet to put together."

"So I'm a human puzzle?" I asked skeptically. He had been watching me? It seemed like the tables had turned. It gave me a heady thrill to know he'd secretly kept that aware of me.

"You're a challenge. That's entertaining." He laughed again.

He looked up as a flocked of birds crossed the sun. The clouds were moving faster from the west, threatening to take over the sky. I almost outright asked him if he was flirting, but I knew it was a big part of his personality. And if he told me I was reading into things, I would die of embarrassment.

"Can you tell I wanted to be a psychologist when I was younger?" Henry shoved his hands in his pocket again.

"A bit."

"It looks like we're going to get rained on, dear." He was still gazing up at the sky, long lashes fanned out against his upper lids. Facets of light shone in his irises like in my dream.

I looked up at the sky too, so as not to get caught staring at him again. He was right. Even though the sun was still glowing behind the clouds, sheet-like rain clouds were moving in. Splotches began to patter the sidewalk.

Laughing, we started to run the rest of the way to my house. He reached out and grabbed my hand as he sped up, pulling me with him. My blood rushed with fresh adrenaline, my head buzzing, pulse throbbing. As we turned onto my street, the sky opened up, dumping rain on us and drenching our clothes and hair.

Running across the lawn, we arrived at the back door.

"This is home—tada," I said with a faux grand sweep of the arms. The navy blue exterior of my house was darker from the rain, water pouring off the gutters and down the white shutters. Hugh's decorations were getting soaked, water pouring through the eyes of the skulls dangling from the trees. Henry looked around, frowning, and it occurred to me that these weren't normal lawn decorations in other towns.

Looking at each other, taking in the state of the rain dripping down our faces, we burst out laughing. I pushed the door open and he followed me inside, still chuckling.

Hugh was standing in the dining room, waiting like a bouncer to either okay Henry or kick him out. I wondered if he'd been watching us come up the walk.

"You look like a couple of soggy sponges," he said.

Henry shrugged off his sweatshirt. Strands of dark hair clung to his forehead. I took the sweatshirt from him and hung it up on the back of one of the dining room chairs, liking the brief, soft feel of it against my fingers.

"It's raining," I stated.

"I can see that." Hugh said.

"Hugh, this is Henry," I said, watching my father's reaction for signs of trouble.

I prepared myself, ready to shield Henry from oncoming missiles. Hugh shook Henry's hand, his eyes like an airport scanner. No detail unnoticed.

"Nice to meet you," Henry said cheerfully, hair still dripping and a drop of water at the end of his nose. He didn't seem intimidated.

"Likewise," Hugh said. He was attempting gruffness, his voice deeper than usual, his shoulders squared. "My daughter hasn't told me much about you, other than your interest in helping her learn. So pardon me if I have some questions."

"Hugh..." I moaned, covering my eyes with my hands. Let the mortification begin.

"Sure, anything you want to know," Henry said.

"What do your parents do for a living?"

"They're both attorneys. My father is in criminal defense and my mother deals with real estate disputes. They left their positions back home. Dad got a partnership with a firm here, and my mother is flying solo."

I was impressed, but Hugh was unfazed. It probably counted as points against Henry's parents, considering how much the legal system irritated Hugh.

"Where did you live before?" he asked.

"Westchester, Pennsylvania. I was actually born in Hell, but we moved when I was a toddler."

"Any siblings?"

"I have a sister, Andrea. She's a freshman at Villanova."

"Okay, I think that's enough of the third degree," I burst in. Odds were Henry would never want to come back. "We need to be studying."

Henry looked down at his chest. I had put my hand there protectively without realizing it. I yanked my arm back, as if I'd burned myself. Heat prickled across my cheeks.

Seemingly satisfied with his interrogation, Hugh sat back down at his laptop. The bridge was now able to be crossed, apparently. He put his flip-flop clad feet up and lounged back.

"Just so you know, the walls are very thin in this house," he said to Henry pleasantly.

Henry grinned widely and ducked his head, his shoulders quivering as he contained a snicker. I didn't get Hugh's meaning at first, but when it hit me, I was horrified.

"Hugh! Please!" I implored him.

"Go study," he said. He slid his coffee mug closer and waved us away with one hand. I led Henry into the den and shut the accordion doors to give us some privacy.

"Since the walls are so thin and all," I groused, causing Henry to chuckle again. "I'm sorry about my father." I gritted my teeth.

Henry's good mood had only been bolstered by Hugh's quiz. He took in the den in one panoramic glance: the walls lined with bookshelves, the black and white framed photographs, Claire's tabletop sculptures and decorative touches.

"Are you ever negative? About anything?" I wondered.

"That's just the typical dad rundown. I would do much worse, if I had a daughter. She probably wouldn't date until she was twenty-five."

"I didn't know a study session qualified as a date," I said, my heart leaping again, pulse thrumming so loud I was sure he'd hear it.

"You know what I mean," he said. Without waiting for permission, Henry strode to the back and started browsing the titles on the bookshelves.

"Is Hugh your stepdad?"

"No, why?"

"The fact that you called him by his first name." He pulled out a brown book with a cover I couldn't identify and flapped the top up and down. "Just curious."

"Oh. My parents are just quirky." I shrugged, settling on the couch. I had set my backpack down at the coffee table, and I nudged it now with my foot. "They've always been about, like, friendly parenting. Like they're so cool and down to earth that I will tell them everything. It made the other kids tease me for a while, until they realized it wasn't a big deal."

"My parents would kill me if I did that," Henry said, depositing his books next to my backpack. He flopped down beside me, his proximity making me dizzy. "I have to call my dad _'_ sir.' They're really strict. It must be nice to have parents who are loose with the rules."

"I wish they were, but they're not really," I said. "Things haven't changed since I was a little kid. They watch my every move. Anytime I do go out, I have to check in every ten minutes. Especially...lately."

I'd almost slipped. Jenna still felt like too sacred of a topic to speak with him about.

"Why lately?" he asked.

"They just...." I trailed off, not knowing how to explain it without going into the whole maudlin tale. I had been spoiled by the fact that everyone around me knew as much as I did, so I never had to explain.

"Shouldn't we get started?" I asked instead.

He nodded, moving closer. It seemed so bizarre to have him in my house, sitting casually on the couch. At school, he was a distant, untouchable thing, but here he seemed truly real.

Opening our geometry books, we began to study. At first, it was hard to concentrate. Up close, the complicated details that made him so attractive were evident. His tawny eyes glowed with warmth, framed by long lashes. His features were totally in balance. A sprinkle of barely-visible freckles crossed his cheeks and the bridge of his slightly crooked nose.

I took every opportunity I had to glance at him, studying every feature, trying to preserve them in my head for later. When he spoke, I realized his tongue was pierced, the silver bar glinting in between his teeth, which fascinated me—maybe he was a little dangerous, after all.

Henry took a break to call his dad and let him know where I lived, so he could set up a ride. I observed him curiously on the phone, the professional tone his voice adopted while he crossed his eyes.

He went over geometry with me for hours, the minutes rushing by. We didn't stop until lights appeared outside the window, shining a zigzag pattern on the curtains. I got up and looked out to see a black Lexus idling at the curb.

"Is that your chariot?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Nice car." I dropped the blind slat and turned around. "So you really are rich?"

The instant I spoke I realized my words sounded tactless. "I mean, you know. Your family. With them being lawyers, I suppose you'd have to be."

He just laughed again. "I suppose so. Why are you so shocked?"

"You seem too humble to be from that kind of money," I admitted.

"It's just part of who I am. Not the sum total."

Retrieving his still-damp hoodie from the dining chair, he pulled it over his head. For a moment, I flashed back to my dream: Henry sliding his shirt off, nothing underneath due to my naive imagination. I looked away, but he didn't notice my distraction.

I followed him to the front door. He noticed Claire's sign and pointed at it.

"Uh, should I be going this way? Would not want to piss those vacuums off." He eyed them warily.

"You're fine, don't worry about it. If you leave a mark, I'll clean it up."

"Well, thank you," he said. He opened the door, books clutched beneath his arm. He grinned, rakish and unfairly good looking. "Bye, Ariel."

"Bye," I repeated, leaning in the doorway, wishing I had a reason to make him stay. He started walking off the porch, then stopped and faced me again, flipping his hood over his dark hair. Blackbirds were printed on the white fabric inside his hood, framing his face as though they were tethered to him.

"We could do this every week, if it would help. I wouldn't mind," he offered.

"Okay," I said, feeling a smile bloom on my face.

"It was fun. And besides, I have nothing better to do. Please don't relegate me to putzing around my house." He put his hands together as if in prayer. "Save me from my boredom."

I couldn't help but laugh. It was extremely flattering. My laughter pleased him, one side of his mouth tilting up in a satisfied smirk. He went from impossibly cute to incredibly sexy.

"Same time, same place?"

"Sure," I said.

Henry waved at me and jogged towards his father's car. Hugh came up behind me and watched the Lexus pull away.

"Did you have a good time?" he asked. "Learn a lot?"

"I learned plenty, thank you," I said, still cross with him. "You really didn't need to ask so many questions."

"I should have asked him what his dad's name was," Hugh said. "He said he was born here."

"Your interrogation skills are getting rusty," I said dryly.

"What's his last name?"

"Rhodes. Why?" I cocked my head and looked at him quizzically.

A cloud passed across his features. He wasn't frowning, but there was something darker there, something I couldn't read. "Phillip Rhodes' son. Yes, they used to live here."

CHAPTER 10

"ALL RIGHT, WHAT happened?" Theo asked. She ambushed me the second I walked into the commons the next day before school. Polka dot skull barrettes held up either side of her fiery hair, and her eyes sparkled with questions.

"What happened with what?" I asked, feigning innocence.

"Your tutoring session." She made bunny ears with her fingers. "You're making me resort to air quotes."

"Oh."

"Oh? I saw Henry coming out of your house, late. Well, semi-late. It was dark. So, how many bases did you run? Was there tongue?"

"Whoa, whoa." I pulled her by her skinny arm to a free corner. I didn't need everyone in the commons hearing, or thinking they heard, juicy gossip. "He was helping me study. The whole time. That doesn't require tongue, unless you count speaking."

I thought about what she'd said for a second.

"Do you just spy on my house all the time?" I asked.

"Pretty much," she admitted, shrugging. "Don't feel special. I spy on all the neighbors. It makes for interesting drawing material sometimes. Lots of naked people by their windows. Now 'fess up."

I recounted what had happened with Henry the night before. In truth, I was kind of dying to gossip about it. The sparks between us had seemed real. Theo looked disappointed by the time I was finished, though, deflating my enthusiasm.

"Boring," she declared, crossing her arms behind her head.

"What were you expecting?" I asked, half amused and half disappointed by her reaction.

"After the other day, I had no idea," Theo said. "At least something PG-13. Not just a boring math powwow."

"Why does it matter?"

"Well, since I can't get a boyfriend, I'm living through your romantic life. In order to do that, you need to have a romantic life for me to live through."

"I'll get right on that," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Good." She looked satisfied.

"I've never really had a boyfriend, either," I admitted. "This is all weird to me."

"Well, just go with it," Theo said. "And make sure you tell me next time."

I realized that we were closer friends than I'd made us out to be, that telling her felt better than keeping the info to myself. It was an odd feeling, partly like a betrayal to Jenna. She was the one who I was supposed to be gossiping about boys with.

At lunch, Theo and I sat together in what had become our usual spot up against the wall. I brought up McPherson again. When I'd heard his voice on the morning announcements, it revived my concern about his shady meeting at the Blind Devil.

"I knew there was something wrong with him," Theo said, peeling the tomatoes off of her sandwich. "He creeps me out. No one should get that excited about lunch menus."

"You like spying on people," I said bluntly. "You said you do it all the time."

"Yep. I had a spy kit as a kid, magnifying glass and all. Until my mom caught me peeping into our neighbor's window. What's your point?"

"I want to make use of your talents, let's say." I felt like I should be stroking my chin as I revealed my nefarious scheme.

"How so?" She looked suspicious, sandwich hovering in mid-air.

"What if we were to follow McPherson's moves and see what he's up to?" I suggested. I knew I sounded like a paranoid nut, but I had a feeling Theo would go along with my idea. "Then we could figure out what's going on with him. For all we know, it's just a poker game or something, but it could be something more sinister."

She thought for a moment, eyes tilted up towards her purple-tinted eyelashes, then shrugged. "All right, I'm game. If McPherson's part of a drug smuggling cartel, we could get on the news. So what, we just track him between classes?"

That's exactly what we did. It seemed like as good a place as any to start. Maybe he would slip during business hours. His companions at the restaurant had had familiar voices, so it was possible they worked at Hawthorne.

Between history and English, I found our shady principal in the hallway, staying several yards behind him. I navigated around people getting to class, trying not to take my eyes off of the back of his balding head.

I don't know what I expected to see him do, especially in school. I thought maybe I could get some clues, no matter how vague.

But he didn't do anything out of the ordinary. He stopped once to chat with some boys in varsity jackets, then with one of the female teachers. Attempted flirting, by the looks of her uncomfortable grin. It didn't help that I only had the brief spans between periods and had to rush to class each time to avoid being tardy.

On my way to art, still following McPherson out of routine more than anything else, I rounded the corner to the electives hall.

"Hello, Ms. Donovan," McPherson said as I practically ran into him. He had been waiting for me on the other side.

I let out an involuntary shriek. He smiled a lemon-toothed grin, hands clasped in front of him. I wondered if he had been on to me the whole time, realizing with a start that he probably had. Perhaps he wasn't as stupid as I had assumed.

"Do you need my help with anything?" he asked in a syrupy voice. We both knew he'd caught me. McPherson never spoke that nicely to me.

"No," I said, shaking my head slowly, my eyes widening as I stepped back. He crossed his hands more tightly, accentuating the elbow patches on his ugly suit.

"Then how about getting to class?" he suggested, in the same sickeningly sweet tone.

I rushed around him and raced to Vore's room, flying all the way into the seat next to Theo. She hadn't seen him do anything out of the ordinary, either.

"What do we do now?" Theo asked.

"We wait until he lets his guard down. It might be a while." But although my suspicion took a back seat, it continued to nag at me.

###

October arrived, bringing the cold with it. I started wearing a jacket I'd gotten from Hugh for my birthday on my chilly morning walks, watching the white puffs of my breath swirl.

The major topic in the news was that the little missing girl, Alyssa Chapman, had not been found yet. Signs with her face on them were stapled to electrical poles all over Hell, covering the missing pet flyers. Jenna's face had been there only a few short months ago.

Maybe it was that association that made me connect Alyssa and Jenna. No one else seemed to, but I felt like they were linked. I switched from checking Jenna's fanpage to checking Alyssa's name on the news, but there were no leads. The police were coming up stumped, theorizing it could possibly be a distant relative who had just been released from jail.

The fact that Hugh and Claire still let me walk by myself amazed me. But they didn't realize the link, either. They were sure that Jenna had run away. Still, they made me check in whenever I was out.

The trees outside dressed for autumn, in orange and scarlet leaves that appeared overnight, turning the town into a postcard. The colder days meant gray skies and drizzling rain, and the insulated feeling returned. Weight bogged down my limbs as I dragged myself to school and back.

Henry was flirty with me in art class, more openly than he had been before. When I got up to ask Ms. Vore a question one day, he followed behind me and fixed my folded collar. His warm, smooth fingers brushed against my neck, making me gulp.

After school, he walked home with me again for another tutoring session.

"My parents are never home," he said, as we were sitting around taking a break from studying. He was scribbling down flashcards with math terms for me.

"Most people would love that, you know," I said, giving him the side-eye.

"Yeah, probably. I told you I'm not normal."

"Are you lonely?" I asked. I wouldn't think someone as social as him, a person who could strike up a conversation with a complete stranger, would even know what being lonely meant. But he remained silent, debating the question. He put his hands behind his head and leaned back on the couch.

Part of me wanted to reach out and touch him, to brush his hair back from his forehead. I shook off the urge, squeezing my fingers together.

"Sometimes," he said finally. He regarded me, eyes sweeping down and then back up, slowly, as my stomach dropped. "Can you keep a little secret?"

"Sure, as long as it's little," I teased.

"My parents are mostly pushing me to hang out with specific people. To them, it's never too early to start networking."

"Ah." Sounded like Claire in overdrive.

"Ever since we moved back here in May, we've been to a ton of dinner parties and social get-togethers that I have no interest in. Let's just say it's a good thing I know how to wrangle a tie."

I pictured Henry dressed up in a suit, like in my sleeping fantasy. The image was too attractive. Then I thought of all the pretty girls who would have also been there, dressed in rich silks and satins, showing off their perfect, slender figures. It spoiled the image.

"So, why did your parents move away from Hell? I mean, if they were going to come back later?"

"I think they thought there was more opportunity in Pennsylvania. But they kept in touch with the folks back home. We visited a few times."

"It seems like my dad knew them," I said. "But that's not too surprising; pretty much everyone knows everyone here."

"And my dad knows everyone in any town," Henry said. "It's part of his image."

He didn't have to tell me that.

"I did like being alone, for a long time," he admitted. "But now I mostly just wander around my house all day, reading. I could make you some high class microwave dishes. Sometimes I just drink and fall asleep."

"Drink, like alcohol?" I didn't much like being around drunk people; they always found themselves far more hilarious than anyone else in the room did.

"Not often. Just nips from what my mother has in the cabinets. It helps me let go." He studied my expression. "Does that bother you?"

"Not that much." And it didn't. I was more concerned with what he'd said about reading. "What kind of books do you read? Most boys our age barely know how to write their own names."

Henry looked bashful, copying my stance with his hands gripping the edge of the couch. He looked up at me. "Fantasy novels."

I chuckled. "You mean like dragons and wizards and that kind of thing?"

"Yep, the very thing." He sat up a little, looking defensive. "And what do you like, romance novels? I bet you have a whole collection of sappy, sentimental vampire lover books sitting dog-eared on your nightstand."

He was only teasing, but he could see from my face that he had hit the nail on the head.

"I like escaping into a world that's more exciting than, well, this," I said, indicating our surroundings. "Mostly I read horror, anyway. And what's wrong with romance?"

"Nothing at all, dear," he said. It was a strange word for him to use again, something my grandmother would say. But out of his perfect mouth it sounded lovely. "I hope to someday fall head over heels myself."

I let a little breath out of my nose, tugging a loose thread from the couch with wandering fingers.

"Under this dashing exterior, I'm a huge nerd," he continued. "I'm just warning you before we continue any farther down the rabbit hole. Promise you won't tell anyone."

"You keep making me promise you things," I observed dryly, although secretly I was delighted. "What do I get out of it?"

"Something great. I'll figure it out," he said, and winked at me.

###

"Who would name a town 'Hell,' anyway?" asked Alex Perkins in history. He had been the class clown eight years running: almost seventeen, but smart enough to always be in Honors.

Warwick perked up, turning from the blackboard where he'd been scribbling bullet points in his hard-to-read scrawl. Our teacher had a bad habit of going off on tangents, something I knew well. It seemed to be getting worse each week, though. Today he had begun with the settling of the North, then drifted to the fur trapping trade, and ended up talking about the original settlement of Hell.

He perched on his worn spot at the front lip of the desk, where he often sat while spinning tales. Taking pause, he seemed to gather his words.

"Hell was originally settled by George Reeves, as I was saying. When he was asked what to name the settlement, he said 'Call it Hell, for all I care.'"

A few chuckles rippled through the room.

"At least, that's the charming anecdote that the mayor likes to tell at town meetings," Warwick said.

"So what's the real story?" Henry asked behind me. My hearing automatically sharpened at the sound of his hypnotic, low-pitched voice.

"Depends on whose account you want to trust," Warwick said. His voice had taken on the quality of a Discovery Channel narrator. "There are several theories, with a hundred years' worth of superstition behind each of them. The most prevalent is that Hell was settled on a spot of evil earth."

There were more giggles, some of them genuine, some nervous. He waited patiently until the quiet laughter stopped. I couldn't tell if he took what he was saying seriously or if it was just an act. I never could.

A born storyteller, he'd told me a million wild, embellished tales when I was a child, about far off places and mythical beasts. I'd believed in jackalopes and unicorns until I was ten, when Jenna had convinced me that he was making it all up, and scoffed at me for ever believing him. She'd stopped thinking Santa was real in first grade.

"We have more than our fair share of haunted houses," Warwick offered as proof. "A higher rate of accidental death than other towns in the county."

"Supposedly haunted," Henry argued. I could almost see his eyes darkening, even without looking at him. "Everybody thinks they've seen a ghost at one time or another. Doesn't mean they have. And accidents are accidents."

"Fair enough," Warwick said. "You are your father's son."

The dry laugh I heard from Henry was surprisingly cold. I finally turned to look at him, and he looked much more serious than usual.

"But there have been numerous sightings throughout the years," Warwick continued. "Of dead relatives, flashing lights, wandering shadows. And many of the accounts were from people who had upstanding reputations in Hell. When I was sixteen, our town sheriff was committed to Bernhardt Asylum when he insisted the shadow of his dead sister kept sneaking into his bedroom and stealing his breath."

"So there's crazy in the tap water," Henry said, not willing to budge. Warwick seemed a little irritated that someone else was stealing the stage. "Still doesn't prove anything."

Warwick went on, trying to ignore Henry. He stood and started pacing slowly back and forth across the front of the desks.

"On the subject of haunted houses: I'm sure some of you know a few. Maybe even live next to one. There are still whispers of trapped spirits." He ticked off the locations on his fingers. "The blue house on Court Street, the abandoned fire house, the orphanage...."

I perked up, as if snapped out of a trance, and shot up my hand.

"You have a question, Ariel?" He tilted his head at me.

"Are you talking about the Dexter Orphanage?"

"I believe that's the only one in town. So yes," he said, smiling gently.

"Do you know anything about that one in particular?"

I had begun twisting my pencil in my hands. Sharp lead bit into my palm.

"Of course, but nothing nice," he said. He sat back on his spot, shifting his weight. He pushed a stack of thick textbooks behind him to get more comfortable. "It was inherited by John Dexter III, a lifelong bachelor—spare us your commentary, Mr. Perkins—from his father. Dexter decided to take in orphans after World War I."

"The first few years went by without remark. He made the children work from sun up to sun down, in the farm behind the orphanage, to help with their keep. That wasn't unusual for the time period, although onlookers said that the orphans looked miserable."

"Dexter had no hired help, even though he'd inherited his father's sizable fortune. He alone cared for the children, cooked for them, disciplined them. He was firm in the belief that children need a sturdy work ethic drilled into them when they're young."

"Bring out the paddle, wha-cha!" Alex shouted from the back row. Warwick rolled his eyes.

"Will you shut up already?" Ambrose Slaughter barked from his seat by the window. He went back to laying his golden head on his arms over a stack of books.

He had either drifted away or been excised from the core popular group since Henry arrived, and he didn't seem too happy about it. No one wanted to pay attention to his tales of false bravado or stories of bedding head cheerleader anymore.

"Now, now, no arguing or story time is over," Warwick said sternly.

He picked up a red dry erase marker and started transferring it from hand to hand. Everyone in class was silent now, even Henry, entranced by the story. I looked out the windows. The wind had picked up, blowing dead brown leaves across the aging grass.

"Then the rumors started, as they do in small towns," Warwick continued, his gray eyes glinting. "These were no ordinary rumors, however. They said horrible things were happening at the orphanage. Children were starved and beaten, and Dexter was using them for ritual sacrifice. Feeding the blood to the earth, to rekindle the evil beneath the town."

I shivered, unable to stop myself. "But why?"

"Something he read in a book, or so I heard," Warwick said, clearing his throat. "He believed he could gain great power from the rituals, power to rule the entire town, and beyond. To bring Hell on Earth."

"And that is why we should never read. Books are evil," Alex joked.

"Why am I not surprised that that is your interpretation?" Warwick said, scowling.

Alex kept silent, despite the snickering of his buddies.

Warwick peered back at me, like he'd just remembered I'd asked the question in the first place. "Why the particular interest in Dexter, Ariel?"

I felt caught, as if in a secret, though I didn't know why it would matter to Warwick. Still, I tried to play the interest off.

"They're going to have a haunted house there this year," I said. I didn't know how to explain my dream or my attraction to the building itself. If I did, everyone would think I was a ghost-obsessed loser.

He frowned. "That's a surprise. The building is falling apart. It's one of the oldest standing structures in town. Last I heard, the town board was talking about condemnation, but no one could determine who held the deed."

The thought rushed through my head that maybe I'd imagined the sign. I didn't know where the paranoia was coming from.

"I saw the sign, too," a girl in the back chimed, reassuring me. "I've always wanted to go to a really scary haunted house."

"I know you like spooky movies, Ariel, but the orphanage is dangerous," Warwick said to me. I felt a little embarrassed that he'd made it so personal in front of the whole class. "Rickety floors, ceilings collapsing. A boy of ten sneaked in there years ago and wasn't found until he'd been reduced to a skeleton. No one's been there much since the seances in the fifties, but—"

"Seances?" I repeated.

"Oh, yes." Once again he became swept up in his own story. "Because of the paranormal nature of the place, people would even go to Dexter to dispel ghosts that were clinging to them, ghosts haunting their own houses. Which brings me back to my original point—"

"Could a seance cleanse you if a ghost was attached to you?" I interrupted again, not wanting him to move on. I knew other people were staring at me, but at the moment, it no longer mattered.

"That's what many believed," he replied vaguely.

"If ghosts existed. Which they don't," Henry muttered, loud enough for me to hear. I blushed as laughter started up around me again. It could have been kindergarten, kids listening to the big bad wolf story and pretending we weren't afraid.

The lights above started flickering. Warwick stopped, along with the rest of us, and gazed up at the light fixtures. The room went dark, and then the light returned. Like rats were chewing through the wires.

"I don't think the ghosts like your story, Wick," Henry said.

"All right guys, I think that's a sign that the sideshow is over. Time to get back to work." He hopped off the desk, back in teacher mode as he headed towards the blackboard and retrieved a piece of yellow chalk. "The fur traders were robust men..."

CHAPTER 11

THE BANGING ON my bedroom wall began again, usually when I was trying to sleep. Every time, I just lay in bed with my hands over my ears, sometimes adding a pillow over my head, trying to block the sounds out. The sounds scared me, but I was also gripped by morbid fascination. I watched the wall and listened to the thudding as it reverberated through my skull.

I dreamed again of the forest. I was running through the trees again, but I was the one being chased. Jenna was nowhere to be seen. Stormy purple slits of sky shone through the leaves above. A black shape flitted in and out of the trees beside me as I ran. I thought I heard a dog barking.

The woods faded away and I arrived before the gloomy orphanage again. I slowly crossed the blackened road to the tall gate. The gate swung open, inviting me in, as the copper symbol glowed with otherworldly power. I set a toe inside...

And woke up screaming into my pillow.

###

After Warwick's story, I couldn't get the seance idea out of my head. Maybe I could contact whatever—or whomever—was reaching out to me. All the trouble seemed to have started on my birthday, when I went to the orphanage in my dream. And it had only continued after I'd visited the place in real life.

Maybe something had followed me home.

That weekend, Theo and I sat watching a horror movie marathon, a huge bowl of cheese popcorn between us. Usually I couldn't help but comment on the bad acting or improbable situations, or stop myself from shouting with glee at the torture scenes.

But this time I was busy shuffling through my comprehensive mental catalog of scary movie plots. Bad dreams, then a poltergeist...it was escalating. I had to find a way to get rid of the spirit, or things would only get worse. They always did.

###

Theo finally got up the nerve to bring her portfolio over to Hugh. It was a leather-covered binder, brimming with paper that stuck out at awkward angles. She just kept filling up sketchbooks in class. For Theo, art seemed to be a necessity. She had to spill out drawings or she would overfill with ideas and explode.

"Hi, Ariel's dad. I finally brought this stuff," she said, clutching the binder to her chest like she'd never let it go.

"I call him Hugh. You can too. Let him look," I said, nudging her gently. The thing I'd learned about Theo was that she was shy at first, but if you could get her to open up, she was a chatterbox. It was just getting that first little fissure. She handed the portfolio over gingerly.

He spread it out across the dining room table, flipping through the loose sketches inside with care. He studied each one with such precision that the wait made Theo more anxious. She didn't take her eyes off of him, watching for any minute change in his expression.

"This is impressive work," Hugh said finally, holding up a paper with different angles of sketched hands, done in colored pencil. "Ariel told me your mom is the new art teacher at Hawthorne."

"Yeah, well, I don't really show her all that much of my art," Theo said, quickly brushing it off. "She might hang it on the fridge or something. I only let her flip through my sketchbook for assignments. She thinks fruit bowls are wicked edgy."

"Well, I don't dole out compliments for someone's ego," Hugh told her. _Except in my case_ , I thought, but I kept that to myself. "You have a lot of natural talent, especially at such a young age."

"They couldn't pry the crayons out of my hands when I was a kid," Theo said. "I just never know if what I draw is good. I'm not an objective judge of my own work. It always seems to be lacking something when I'm finished."

"I'll tell you what," Hugh said, setting the sketch down and shutting the portfolio's leather cover. "How about you put together a couple of pencil studies, and I'll see if I can't find you a space on the wall at Erasmus?"

I thought Theo would have a heart attack. She put a hand to her chest, her eyes like glittering pools of green water. "Seriously?"

Hugh nodded. "In fact, I'm going over there right now to drop off some paperwork. Would you girls like to hitch a ride with me?"

Theo nodded her head furiously, a big smile plastered across her face, the pink plastic anchor around her neck jiggling.

We piled into the Mazda, Theo and I riding in the backseat. As he drove, Hugh turned the local radio station on, keeping the volume low. This time of year, there were always back-to-back advertisements for haunted houses.

"Named the scariest attraction in Hell two years in a row," a gravel-voiced announcer on the current ad said, "Hell's Orphanage is back after a five year hiatus, ready to shock your socks off and claim its next victim."

"Can you turn that up?" I asked, gripping the back of the passenger seat. Hugh turned the dial.

"Discounted tickets are available online. Now through Halloween, get your scare on at the old Dexter Orphanage on Sanitarium Road."

The garbled voice was replaced by a bubbly woman talking cheerfully about toothpaste.

"That was awfully cheesy for being Hell's scariest," Hugh said. "'Get your scare on'? I come up with more frightening stuff than that in the shower. I'd disintegrate those socks." Theo snickered at Hugh's lame joke.

"I don't know, I think it sounds interesting. I talked about it with Wick today," I said. I was trying to act as nonchalant about the whole thing as possible, though I knew I was terrible at pretending. "He was telling the whole class about haunted houses in town. I haven't been to one in years," I added to Theo as I sat back.

"Me neither," she said.

"Remember when we used to go every Halloween to the one in the old cider mill?" Hugh asked, catching my eye in the rearview mirror. "You were just a little girl then, but it wasn't too scary for you. Then we would eat caramel apples and cider on the picnic tables out back and watch the sun go down."

"I do remember. That was always a lot of fun," I said fondly, smiling at the memory. I turned towards Theo, the spark of a plan igniting. "Would you be interested in going to this one?"

"Sure, that would be great," Theo agreed brightly. Her smile remained a bit too tight. She seemed very nervous about going to the gallery, even though only Hugh and Gwen would be there.

Erasmus was housed in a red brick building from the turn of the last century, looking the part of a gallery from the outside. It was at the end of a row of buildings pressed together, all painted different colors and containing different shops—a candy store, an antiques place, an abandoned ballroom from the 1950s.

Giant flowered silver molding went all the way around the barn red front door, which was open right now, as it usually was, to let in fresh air. Slender topiaries tied with orange and black bows guarded the entrance.

Theo looked up at the building with reverence, as though we were about to enter a holy temple. I thought she might cross herself.

"Come on," Hugh said casually, waving us inside.

In contrast to the Victorian exterior, the interior had modern architecture, with high ceilings and bowed archways. Windows lined the entire front side of the building, with vertical, mood-setting tan blinds.

I went to Erasmus often, accompanying Hugh when Claire was working since he didn't trust me to function by myself. There was a permanent collection of snacks in my honor in the break room.

Coming out from behind the front desk, Gwen greeted us. "Hi, Ariel. Haven't seen you in a while. Who's your friend?"

Gwen was from Louisiana, with a deep southern drawl. She always wore bright jewel tones that complimented her dark skin; today she was wearing a purple suit jacket and pale green pants. She smiled warmly at Theo.

"This is Theo. She's my next door neighbor, just moved here this past spring. She's an artist herself, actually," I explained.

Theo did her hand shaking routine with Gwen, who seemed to find it charming as her wooden bracelets clinked vigorously.

"Don't worry, I'm pretty new myself," Gwen said to Theo with a wink. "I only moved to Hell last fall, when I started working here. My family wasn't too happy that I chose to buy a house alone, instead of settling down with a husband."

She'd been an integral part at the very start of the business, although she was too modest to admit it. Hugh didn't have a good grasp of things like taxes and bills. The gallery would have run into the ground if it wasn't for Gwen.

Gwen excused herself and went back to cutting the stems shorter on a bouquet of colorful daisies. "Feel free to have a look at anything you like," she said cordially. "Hugh and I just have to talk shop."

Theo and I wandered slowly from room to room. I'd snooped around Erasmus a million times, but it was fresh through her eyes. Painted benches sat in the center of each open space, so visitors could sit and admire the treasures on the walls. Not only did Erasmus house paintings and sketches, but also sculptures, painted tiles, and more unusual fare for collectors. A short, stone potter in the shape of a medieval beast lurked in one corner.

Theo glided as if in a dream, eyes lingering on each painting. The knowledge of how much everything cost made me wince, but I knew there were many people in Hell who could afford fine art. The gallery had been doing steady business since it opened.

My thoughts kept going impatiently to the orphanage. Now that I was convinced something was haunting me, I didn't want to wait long to confront it.

"Do you girls want a snack?" Gwen offered, bringing out coffee for herself and Hugh.

"No thanks, we're good for now." I waited until she and Hugh took back up with their discussion before I turned back to Theo.

"I keep imagining one of my pictures up on these walls," Theo murmured softly. "Do you think that's being full of myself?" She searched my eyes carefully.

"Not at all. I think you should feel that way."

"I can't believe your dad really liked those sketches. I thought he'd take one look and laugh his head off."

"Is that why it took you so long to show him?"

"Yeah." She ducked her head and rubbed one toe of her sneaker on the other. We stood quietly among the paintings for a moment.

"All right, you're going to think I'm weird," I blurted.

"Don't worry, I already think you're weird," she teased. When she saw my serious look, her face became solemn. "What's up?"

We sat down on one of the benches, painted with tropical orange flowers. A tall sculpture of crushed cans stood in front of us, reaching almost to the ceiling.

I wanted Theo to know what my plans were instead of foisting them on her at the last minute. I had to make sure she was willing to go along with me, or see if she would tell me that I was crazy and possibly slap some sense into me.

"I was thinking of maybe having a seance," I said carefully. I had listened many times when Aunt Corinne told people about her beliefs, and had watched their faces become skeptical and mocking. But I didn't see that look in Theo's watchful eyes.

"Warwick was telling me about the orphanage, the one that was advertised on the radio. That it used to be a hotbed of spiritual energy or something. I thought we could maybe, I don't know..." I shrugged, unable to find the explanation I was looking for. "Call it up? In the spirit of the Halloween season?"

After a second, Theo said, "For sure, sounds interesting. Count me in."

I smiled, relieved, as she started asking me about the artists of individual paintings. We ended up spending the remaining afternoon in Erasmus, drinking strong coffee diluted with flavored creamers as Gwen and Hugh walked around and planned where they were going to fit in Deborah Strait's work.

By the time we got home, the sky was deep into dark. Theo was chatting excitedly about her plans for her sketches.

"I'm going to be up all night drawing now," she said.

"Sorry." I grinned.

"Thanks," she said genuinely, putting her hand on my arm, the other hand casually holding her portfolio.

"You deserve for people to know how talented you are. You can't keep that to yourself. You'd regret it your whole life."

I watched her skip back to her house, as I leaned on the same fence that had separated us a month ago. It was funny how fast things could completely change.

###

There was one more person I wanted at the seance, even if he did think ghosts were fantasy. Henry wasn't going to make it to study that week. He was helping his father clear out old court documents from their storage unit. So I knew I had to scout him out at Hawthorne.

I found him waiting outside for the Lexus to arrive. He was leaning against a twisty oak next to the bottom of the school steps, watching the fountain burble. It was a horribly ugly fountain, shaped like a tree house with horns jutting out of it. Thornhill might as well have set their money on fire.

Henry's foot was perched up on the bumpy oak's trunk. The top button of his shirt was undone, the smooth, clear skin of his chest peeking out.

"Hi," he greeted me. I looked up at his face, embarrassed that he'd caught me ogling him. He remained unfazed, continuing, "How's Vanderlip treating you?"

"Fine." I had no idea how to bring up my plans without sounding awkward or loopy. Especially after his display in Warwick's class the other day.

"You said that ghosts aren't real. Well, do you want to go to a haunted house this weekend and prove it?" _Yeah, that sounded natural. Ariel, you are so smooth. Freakin butter._

His warm brown eyes assessed me for a minute. He slid his hands into the pockets of his pale corduroy pants. "You know haunted houses aren't my thing. That stuff is brainless."

"Yeah, I heard you." I tried not to take his words personally. "But it's just for fun. We're not taking it seriously. Theo and I were going to stick around and hold a seance."

"A seance?" he asked, lifting one brow.

"Yeah. That's how people in Hell get our kicks, y'know. Halloween taints our blood."

"Seances. Also corny," Henry said, leaning his head back against the tree trunk. His hair blew around gently in the breeze.

"Well, I know they're not as cool as dragons," I said sarcastically.

"I know how to separate fantasy from reality," he said seriously, his eyes darkening a shade.

"So do I," I retorted. Most of the time.

I started to turn away, back towards the sidewalk. It was a lost cause.

"What the hell, I'll go," he said, shocking me. "But only for you. What day are you planning?"

"Saturday," I said, trying to contain my irrational excitement. "We're going to the orphanage for the haunted house, and then we're going to find a way to hang around after. Oh, and make sure you bring a fourth person. It doesn't matter who, as long as they're willing.

I thought better of the suggestion for a second. "And as long as it's not Lainey or Madison."

"Okay. But don't be offended if I laugh," Henry warned. The Lexus glided up to the sidewalk and Henry nodded goodbye as he got into the passenger seat and disappeared.

CHAPTER 12

MY PARENTS LEFT for the airport Friday afternoon. They had been invited to go to a wedding in New York, for one of Claire's sorority sisters. Aunt Corinne was enlisted to keep me company——which, decoded, meant watch over me.

"You need a babysitter at fifteen?" Theo had asked me skeptically at lunch.

"Yeah, you know. I might try to put metal in the microwave, or get a boo boo and needed it bandaged."

Ambrose Slaughter forced his way past me with a grunt, grabbed a cellophane-wrapped sandwich, and cut directly to the cashier. No one in line dared protest. He made sure to bump into me again on his way back out.

"Excuse you," he spat.

I merely held my breath and waited until he was out of sight.

"Or throw a banging party, considering how popular I am," I muttered, clutching my tray.

In reality, I didn't protest my parents' decision to have Corinne over, at least not too much. I knew I was on shaky ground, as they allowed me to hang out with Theo whenever I wanted. I waited for the limits to be revealed. I didn't want to jeopardize the little freedom I had left.

Aunt Corinne was due to arrive two hours after my parents departed, so I had rare time to myself. I caught up on laundry and read _A Tale of Two Cities_ for English. Then I started picking up the already tidy house, since I knew Claire would have wanted me to.

I wiped down the kitchen, cabinets to floor, and re-vacuumed the living room carpet, trying to make everything as nice as possible. Of course, Claire had been scrubbing her hands raw up until the last minute. The house smelled strongly of disinfectant and the five apple cinnamon candles burning on the kitchen windowsill.

Corinne arrived half an hour late, lugging two huge suitcases and a steamer trunk out of her minivan and almost smashing my toes. Her sunglasses sat crookedly on her nose.

"There was traffic. It would have been faster to walk," she reported in her nasal voice as we began to drag in her bags. I had no idea what she could possibly need so desperately for two days. She only lived thirty minutes away in Ann Arbor.

I helped her get settled in the den where she was staying. She griped about the short couch and the lack of TV, but otherwise seemed satisfied.

An hour later, I was hanging out in the dining room while Corinne botched an attempt at dinner. Chunks of unidentifiable vegetables were swimming in green sludge in a stew pot on the stove. We had been talking about school and she'd asked me questions about what Claire was up to, which I recognized as fishing for gossip. I had none to give her, since Claire and I hardly exchanged words. I was biding my time, waiting for the right moment to ask her what I needed to.

"Have you ever seen a ghost?" I finally asked, attempting to sound nonchalant from my seat at the table.

"What do you mean?" Still stirring the pot, Corinne turned to me, her nose scrunched up. If I didn't know her better, I'd have assumed her expression was due to the stew's noxious fumes. But that was Corinne's default face.

"Have you ever actually seen a ghost with your own two eyes?" I asked again, shifting the napkin holder back and forth so I didn't have to look at her.

She paused, tapping gunk off of the wooden spoon with a clunk and setting it on a paper towel square.

"I've had paranormal experiences before," she said cautiously, crossing the room and taking the seat across from me. I watched her pick out her words. "I've heard them and I've sensed them. I can feel when a spirit is nearby, or even if it's just the energy that has been left behind."

She rotated her arms in windmill motions as she spoke, giving her the loony psychic aura she projected so often.

"So the answer is no?" I asked bluntly.

She met my eyes and looked irritated, dropping the otherworldly act. "That's right. Technically." She let out a big sigh, pointy shoulders shuddering beneath her navy blouse. "Not for lack of trying, however. Guess I didn't inherit mommy's little gift." Her tone was unmistakably bitter.

I perked up. "Mommy's little gift?"

She laughed dryly, her lips curling into a sneer. "You mean Claire didn't tell you?" Off of my puzzled look, she said, "Of course not. She thinks it's shameful to the family."

I waited for her to continue, curiosity clawing at me. I didn't have to wait long.

"My mother, your grandma Eleanor, saw ghosts. Not just communicating with them. She saw them, as real as anything."

The skin over my spine slithered, like ice water pouring down my back. What was she telling me?

"Your mother wouldn't want me to let you know this," Corinne said. That only seemed to sweeten the deal for her. She stood and returned to her stirring duties as smoke drifted in the air.

"I won't tell her," I pleaded. "I'd really like to know."

She looked like an old-fashioned witch stirring her cauldron, straw-like yellow hair falling down her back. Or maybe that was just Hell having its effect on me. Over my shoulder, I looked out the back door, where Hugh's decorations glowing eerily in the settling twilight.

"Mom never told me much about it," Corinne said. I couldn't tell if she was holding back or not. "She would tell me stories when I was little, about the spirits she'd seen. But before your mom and I were born, she..."

Here she paused, and I could practically hear her brain picking out her words again, like a toy crane machine.

"She stopped."

Finality in her tone urged me not to push the matter. When a person irritated my aunt, she could give him or her the cold shoulder for months. Sometimes decades. She started rooting around in the cupboards above the stove, opening and shutting them forcefully.

"Where does your mother keep the plates in this clutter?" Corinne asked, back to her usual self.

I got up and retrieved the soup bowls. She ladled the repulsive stew in and crinkled her nose up again. My stomach rolled, threatening to turn over.

"If someone wanted to go about having a seance, how would they do it?" I asked as innocently as I could muster.

"What is it with this line of questioning?" Corinne snapped, glaring at me.

"I was just wondering. Those books you gave me sparked my interest." It wasn't entirely untrue, just not the complete story.

"A girl as young and inexperienced as you wouldn't be able to pull off a seance," she said shortly.

I felt insulted, especially considering that at that moment I'd had more contact with spirits than she had ever had.

"Don't you have any books on the subject?" I pressed. I knew that Corinne had once held a side job where she acted as a traveling medium for bereaved hipsters.

"Probably, somewhere. But I don't loan out my books," she amended quickly.

Corinne brought the two steaming bowls of gunk to the table and set one at my place. Swishing the spoon around, I mentally envisioned the microwavable ham n' cheez pockets in the freezer. Less nutritious, maybe, but far more edible.

"Where's the necklace you got for your birthday?" Corinne asked unexpectedly.

"I keep it in my room." I was trying to figure out how to pretend to eat the soup so as not to hurt her feelings, without getting the spoon anywhere near my mouth. Concealing it in a napkin wouldn't work and we didn't have a dog.

"How about you go and fetch it while I order pizza? Then I can answer your questions," she suggested.

I was shocked. She hardly ever indulged in junk food, and she ate her own cooking all the time. The green sludge must truly have been an abomination.

I went downstairs and fished the little white box out again. Pulling off the top, I inspected the necklace tentatively. I hadn't forgotten how the green stone had heated up at the restaurant when I'd spied on McPherson's secret meeting. It didn't make any rational sense then, but now that I knew Eleanor had seen ghosts, it felt like the blurry picture before me was coming into focus.

Back upstairs, the table was cleared off, a set of unopened paper plates waiting. Brackish drops of soup dotted the wood, and I wiped them discreetly away with a napkin.

Corinne was sitting on the arm of the living room recliner, tapping her fingers on her knees. If my mother had seen her, she would have shooed her off like a naughty cat.

My aunt held out both hands for the necklace and I laid it across her palms. Squinting with the stone up to her nose, she rotated it around.

"Well?" I asked impatiently.

"This could be a talisman to increase spirit view. It reminds me of something in one of my books, but I don't think I have it with me," Corinne explained.

"It was your mom's, right? Did you ever see her wearing it?"

Corinne shook her head, her expression murky. She adjusted her bony butt on the chair arm.

"I've never seen it before," she said. "But mom had boxes full of jewelry. Dad bought her every bauble she ever wanted."

She pointed a sharp fingernail at the back of the pendant. Upon closer investigation, I saw some etchings I hadn't noticed before.

"See these designs?" she asked. "These look like alchemic symbols. Sometimes alchemy has been used in modern times for spellcraft. This could prove to be a powerful tool when trying to contact spirits."

"Does it feel, uh, like warm to you?" I asked, biting my lip.

She frowned at me like I'd just asked her how much she weighed. "What?"

"Nothing."

I got the feeling she didn't want to give the necklace back, as she wrapped her fingers protectively around the pendant. But I snatched it out of her grip.

"You said you were going to answer my question," I pressed.

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "Many different methods exist for going about a seance. You can find them online, if you're that interested. But the most important ingredient for success is that you truly believe and feel connected to the dead you're trying to communicate with."

The doorbell jangled and Corinne hoisted herself off the recliner with a fistful of cash. I sat on the couch, studying the symbols on the back of the necklace and contemplating what to do. I licked my dry lips, feeling the cracked skin beneath my tongue.

After we'd gorged on pizza and buttery bread sticks, I excused myself to my room to kill some time. I fiddled with my textbooks, double-checking my homework, unable to concentrate. Every few minutes I'd get up and pace the floor, appraising the alarm clock.

When I finally crept back up the stairs, it was long past midnight. I heard snoring before I reached the top step. Corinne had passed out on the recliner, a knit throw tossed gracelessly across her knobby knees. A bottle of wine and an empty glass sat beside her, and the TV was blaring a special on arson.

I sneaked into the den, pushing the accordion doors almost completely shut. Her trunk was against the bookshelves. I didn't like taking things, but I rationalized that I would bring them back as soon as I was done, and take every precaution to make sure her items weren't harmed in any way.

Roses were carved into the antique wood of the trunk. I opened the heavy, awkward lid and propped it up against the bookshelves, hoping it wouldn't slam down and amputate my fingers.

As I rummaged around inside, I saw a stack of books jammed against the back. At the bottom was a tome entitled Modern Seance Methodology, filled with torn paper scraps serving as placeholders. Flipping through it quickly, I gathered the other supplies I needed. I felt like my scheme required something more solid than quacky internet advice.

I looked around for the other book Corinne had spoken of, the one that might contain information about the necklace, but I didn't see it. The trunk lid shut with a clunk, and I scrambled out of the den and slipped past Corinne. I went back downstairs to prepare for the next night's deception.

###

I'd planned out Saturday night for a week, but for some reason I was more nervous when it arrived than I'd been on the first day of school. I intentionally refused to examine my motives. Something was haunting me, and whatever it was, it was manipulating my emotions.

I stood in front of the mirror in my room, studying my reflection the same way Jenna had studied hers months ago. In my head, I saw my friend as she had been that night, full of anticipation and nervous energy.

My pale, narrow face looked thinner and older from stress, but my hazel eyes were bright and excited. Too excited. I was putting a lot on this evening. There was every possibility that the seance would be a total bust.

I glanced at the wall above my desk in the mirror, half expecting the thudding sound to start up again in response to my thoughts.

Saying goodbye to Corinne, I took my roomiest purse with me and hoped she wouldn't notice how it bulged. She didn't and only pestered me a little before I made my escape.

"Call me when you get back to Tay-Oh's house," she said, pronouncing Theo's name wrong even though I had already corrected her twice. "And be careful. Remember that your mom and dad don't want you getting in any trouble. At your age, trouble is always chasing you. Don't let it catch up."

"Sure, I'll behave. I'll talk to you later." There was a good chance she'd forget that she'd told me to call when the time came. There were plenty of unopened bottles in the wine rack.

Ms. Vore and Theo were already waiting in their car at the bottom of the driveway. By the time Vore dropped us off at the orphanage, it was five minutes to eight. The sky had turned charcoal gray with streaks of thin clouds, the twisted, bare tree branches black against the night. Bonfires nearby sweetened the autumn air.

"Be back by eleven-thirty. Have fun," Vore told Theo and sped off in her car, leaving us in front of Dexter's open gate. She seemed to be rather lax about Theo staying out, or maybe that was me, being used to overprotective parents.

For a moment, I felt guilty that Hugh and Claire didn't know about my ruse. Being partially honest was still lying. But I tried to tell myself that I wasn't hurting anyone, and I would take care of myself.

Theo was wearing huge, glittery bat earrings, her red hair up in a shiny bun. With her glasses, she looked like the world's coolest librarian.

"This place lives up to the hype," she said, eying the steep, shingled roof of the orphanage. "My socks are definitely in danger of being knocked off."

"Is this the first time you've seen the orphanage?" I asked. We stepped through the gate, shoes crunching through a carpet of fallen leaves. I had a momentary flashback to my long-ago birthday dream.

Locked out, I could go no farther. Jenna standing in front of the steps, hands hanging at her hips, face flat and hopeless...

"Yeah. I've never had a chance to come over to this side of town," Theo said, breaking me out of my memory. "Where's handsome Henry supposed to be?"

"He just said he would meet us here," I replied, shrugging. "We didn't decide on a specific place."

"Hopefully we can find him," she said, surveying the scene. I thought she was kidding at first, until I noticed how packed the lawn was.

I vaguely recognized a lot of juniors and seniors from Hawthorne, although I didn't know anyone by name. They towered above us as we crossed the lawn, making me feel adolescent. I wondered why, of all places, Dexter would attract such a crowd. Probably because the orphanage seemed so genuinely creepy.

With a jolt of both fear and irritation, I registered Ambrose Slaughter among them, swigging back a can of beer and berating one of his buddies. He was wearing a mask in the shape of a white rat, currently pushed above his eyebrows. Most appropriate mask ever. I steered Theo away before she noticed him.

It looked like someone had done a cleanup job of the grounds since my last visit; the trash had mostly disappeared, although the ground was still dry and brown.

"I don't see any sign of Henry," I whispered to Theo, frowning. Although there were plenty of boys in hoodies. "Maybe he ditched on me. I should have found someone who doesn't think ghosts are ridiculous, I guess."

I didn't want to accept the disappointing possibility that I'd been stood up, but it seemed very likely. In my head, I chastised myself for ever thinking he'd go through with it.

"Were you going to give up on me that easily?" Henry asked from behind me. Theo and I turned to see him, a mock expression of hurt crossing his face. "Good to know I'm so easy to get over."

"You're just hard to find," Theo said quickly.

I noticed then with some trepidation that Henry had recruited Alex Perkins, the idiot always cracking jokes in history class, as our fourth person.

"He was the best you could come up with?" I asked, jerking my thumb at Alex. Theo tilted her head, scrutinizing the other boy.

"I'm just here for the free entertainment," Alex assured me, running a hand through his carefully gelled hair. "You did buy me a ticket, right?"

I scowled and nodded at the same time. From my purse, I retrieved the tickets I'd bought online and distributed them to everyone.

"I don't have to pay you back, right?" Alex asked, flipping the ticket around as if inspecting its authenticity.

"Uh, no. My treat."

Now moving as a unit, we handed in the tickets to a college-aged volunteer in a black and orange t-shirt and got in line. The sessions, as the staff referred to them, ran early in the evening, and we were there for the eight-thirty—the last. I had tried to time it so that after we went through the haunted house, people would leave and we'd have the property to ourselves.

A chill had arrived since the sun went down, making me glad I'd opted for a chunky sweater over my jeans and t-shirt. There were a few guys in costumes, one wearing a skull mask. His eyes were specks in the dark mask holes. The people in the line were talking loudly, mostly about school, but some of them shared the stories they'd heard about Hell's Orphanage.

I felt excited to see the haunted house itself, even though it merely presented a distraction. I shifted on my feet, growing more impatient every second. I'd lost sight of Ambrose, thankfully, but I kept catching a word or two in his voice carried on the wind.

I peered around the people in front of me. The line snaked to the entrance: double doors beneath the dilapidated staircase. A brief image of victims being fed to the orphanage flitted through my mind. I imagined teeth and a meat-red tongue lurking behind the steel doors. I brushed the elaborate picture away, pulling the neck of my sweater up.

"Are you cold?" Henry asked. Without giving me a chance to reply, he started rubbing my arms, his hands gently moving up and down against the sleeves of my sweater.

"Yeah," I muttered as an afterthought, relishing the feel of his hands through the material. I shut my eyes, my nerves vibrating with his touch.

A couple of girls in front of us, dressed in short skirts despite the frigid weather, were talking about how scared they were. Their boyfriends started comforting them with quiet words. Henry stopped rubbing my arms and went back to his place beside Alex, and I had to stop myself from asking him to continue.

"You females can cling to me if it gets scary," Alex said. I figured he might start beating on his chest like a gorilla any minute.

"Stuff it, bro," Theo retorted. "We can take care of ourselves." Her words came out accentuated by little puffs of vapor.

My phone beeped and I pulled it out of my pocket. Henry's name was on the screen. Sorry, he has a car, read the text. I giggled.

Finally, the doors flew open with an explosion of thick, artificial fog. I couldn't help but be reminded of my dream again. I shut my eyes, willing away any errant visions.

The line moved forward quickly as the crowd shuffled inside, just as impatient as I had been. Soon we stood before the entrance. I took a deep breath, and Theo and I walked into the grim opening. The metal doors slammed shut behind Alex and Henry, rendering the space in complete blackness.
CHAPTER 13

NONE OF US could see a thing.

"Whoa, what the—" Alex sputtered.

The dark inside the orphanage was impenetrable, and I couldn't even make out my own hands as I waved them in front of my face. My heart skipped a beat as I thought back to the night in my room when I'd felt watched. The light sucked out of the bulb.

I'd always prided myself on being brave when it came to monsters and scary stories. But now, thanks to circumstances beyond my control, I was losing my edge.

Blacklights along the upper walls flickered on with a hiss, making Theo's hair glow hot pink.

"That's better," Theo said in a hushed voice.

We were in a run-down, tight room, devoid of furniture. Theo looked around and jumped as she noticed photo collages of severed body parts on the wall, fake blood smeared across them.

"Nice," Henry said, smirking. "A real artistic touch."

Cavernous darkness stretched out before us beyond the reach of the blacklights. The people in front of us had already run past, shadow swallowing any trace of them left behind. The faint strains of an out-of-tune piano drifted from somewhere farther on. I squinted into the dark, but still couldn't make out any concrete shapes.

"Let's go," I whispered, looking at Theo. "This should be exciting."

A tight smile crossed her lips, as though her stomach was upset.

"Are you okay?" I asked her.

"I'm fine," she said in a chipper tone, bobbing her head a little too enthusiastically. "Let's march."

Our group stuck together as we shambled down the hall. I could hear the boys talking quietly amongst themselves behind us, about some military video game.

The first room bore the first scare. Theo wandered into the center, where a trap door sprang open above her, deploying a rubber corpse in a cheap suit. Theo screamed and doubled backwards, crashing into me. She righted herself, but her face remained frightened, her eyes as big as soup bowls, tiny hands clasped beneath her chin.

"Still doing okay?" I asked, concerned. There was no color in her face.

"Just a little scared, that's all," she admitted, smiling with self-deprecation. "I'm a wuss when it comes to this stuff."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked. She had seemed as keyed up as me to visit Hell's Orphanage. The boys had stopped talking and were listening to our conversation.

"I didn't want you to think less of me," Theo admitted, looking down at the filthy floor in embarrassment with flushed cheeks. "It's only in situations like this, when there are jumpy scares. The anticipation makes me wig out."

"But you said you liked watching horror movies with me."

"That's different. I know I'm safe sitting on your couch and snacking," she explained.

Instantly, I felt very selfish. I grasped her hand, trying to reassure her. "If we stick together, we'll get through it fast. And I'll never take you to another haunted house again." She nodded, gathering her resolve.

"Will you buy me a shirt?" she asked wryly. "I've always wanted a I survived something and all I got was this crappy shirt shirt."

"I don't think they have shirts," Henry said.

"I'll make you a shirt," I said, grimacing at Henry.

Theo took a deep breath, and we proceeded farther on into the building. Haunted houses were old hat for me, but I quickly became disoriented. Not good, since I was trying to comfort Theo.

Except for the occasional blacklight or colored bulb, abundant shadows made it difficult to see. We made our way through the rooms, swimming through murky space. The shapes around us could have been nothing or anything.

Sounds of other people shrieking farther inside made Theo tense up. We didn't meet up with many of our fellow visitors, as they'd all gotten quite the head start. Every time we heard another shout, Theo would squeeze my hand.

A green monster with bloody fangs jumped out at Theo. She screamed, dropped my hand, and cowered. Rattling loudly, the mechanism the rubber monster was attached to retreated back into its hiding place in the wall.

"See, it's just a stupid old contraption," Henry reassured her, patting her shoulder gently. It still looked like Theo was trembling. Henry and I exchanged a glance; even he looked worried, and he barely knew her. Alex was engrossed in a game on his phone, which was emitting an endless string of beeps and dings.

Again, I felt like a jerk for bringing her there, all for my own selfish reasons. Especially when the odds were that the orphanage would keep all of its secrets to itself and not share any with me.

We arrived at the mouth of a pencil-thin hallway. It was only wide enough for one person to pass at a time, so I led our group, edging forward. Theo followed behind me, taking hold of my hand again.

I had never suffered claustrophobia, but the battered walls suffocated me. Although I'd been looking forward to the cheap thrills, I didn't like being inside Dexter. Not only because of Theo's fear, but also due to a bad feeling that I couldn't quite name.

For one, I kept detecting an odd sensation beneath my feet. A vibration, not a sound; a pulsing beat in the floor, as steady as a heartbeat. And I couldn't tell whether anyone else picked up on it.

There was also the feeling that we were being turned around. The crazy, paranoid notion struck me that the rooms were shifting, that the things we saw kept reappearing and shifting places.

In the next room, a boy our age was rocking back and forth in a creaky chair. His legs were pulled up, knees cradling his pointy chin. He wore torn, filthy flannel pajamas, splotches of pale skin exposed like stains. His tortured eyes were rooted to a spot on the wooden floor.

"He locked us in the closet," the boy gibbered, rocking again, the chair squeaking in time with his movements. "He locked us inside and we couldn't get out."

Next to him was the closet door of which he spoke, I assumed. For a second, I thought I saw liquid pooling beneath it, but when I blinked, I realized it was just another shadow.

The closet door swung open, revealing a row of plastic skeletons that began to shake and shudder. Henry laughed heartily behind me, completely spoiling whatever terror the skeletons were there to inflict. The boy in the rocking chair stopped moving for a second and glared at Henry's disrespect.

Henry quieted down, looking down at his shoes, and the boy went right back into his act. Seeing that made my anxiety abate a bit. I heard Theo chuckle next to me. Discovering the real people behind an illusion always made it easier to overcome.

Henry looked up through his hair and into my eyes, and we exchanged a smile. I felt his hand briefly reach out and squeeze mine, and I dipped my head as heat flushed my cheeks. I'd been too occupied with Theo and the creepiness of Dexter to ruminate on how much I liked him, but the feeling was instantly back, stronger than ever.

A red light cast a bloody glow over the following room. Dizziness swept over me, accompanied by a metallic taste on my tongue that seemed both familiar and wrong, like I'd bitten down on the inside of my cheek. I put my hand up to my mouth, but under the lights I couldn't tell if there was blood or not.

Children's voices filled my ears, high and whining like sirens. I cringed, looking around for the source. I covered my ears with my hands, but it didn't block out the voices. They were talking all at once, and I couldn't distinguish their words. Pushing in, trying to tell me, trying to—

"What's wrong?" Theo whispered. She and the boys had moved on ahead, and now they had all stopped to stare back at me. I opened my mouth to speak and the voices stopped. The metal taste was gone, too, leaving my mouth suddenly parched. I cleared my throat and coughed.

"Nothing," I whispered back, not wanting them to see me afraid, especially Henry. I fished a water bottle from my purse and took a healthy swig, swallowing hard. "I think all the fake fog is making me nauseated, that's all."

"Well, it's a good thing you brought a convenience store in your bag," Henry said wryly, grinning at me. But in his eyes, I could see that he didn't buy my cover-up.

I stuck my sandpaper tongue out at him, and we continued on. It seemed like we'd been there for hours, but according to my phone, it hadn't even been twenty minutes. I just wanted to reach the finish line. We still had a long night ahead of us, if everything went according to plan.

In the next room, broken furniture was piled in the far corner. A discarded playpen sat in the center, and I ran my hand along the splintered wooden rail, tiny spikes needling the pads of my fingers.

"Not exactly child-proofed," Theo noted, peering into the sad, filthy remains of the playpen. A china baby doll with its face smashed, lay beneath a moth-eaten blanket.

A wall of animal cages lined one side up to the ceiling, the kind that pet shops used to house birds and rabbits. Yet the haphazard tower was much creepier, like an abandoned prison, desolate and threatening. As we passed, a disembodied voice suddenly spoke out.

"When the orphans became too difficult to manage, they were kept in cages," the gravelly, genderless voice warbled, distorted. "And when there were too many in the cages, the Master cut down their numbers."

"Where's that voice coming from?" Alex asked, his voice shaking. I had the suspicion he was as scared as Theo. His phone had disappeared, and he was rocking back and forth on his heels as if ready to dash away.

"It's not the dark ages, Alex," I said. "There are such things as speakers." I realized that's where the children's voices must have come from, too. But I kept that to myself, just in case.

"Why, if it isn't the fantastic four?" came a voice ahead of us, definitely not from a speaker. Ambrose Slaughter stood alone, blocking our way. The reek of beer surrounded him like a cloud, and he glared at us with bloodshot blue eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Henry asked in annoyance.

"Having a good time," Ambrose said, shrugging. But I could sense his temper simmering. "I came here to have a good scare, too, but I think this place is a little too dead."

Suddenly, before I could react, he crossed the distance between us and wrapped his hands around my upper arms. I could almost taste his alcohol-scented breath, warm on my lips.

"How about we liven the party up a bit?" he asked me.

My heart hurt from pounding too hard. The others had gone silent behind me. Was Ambrose going to hurt me? Of course he was; this was payback for messing up his plans.

"Hands off," Henry said, as I simultaneously pushed my hands against the rock wall of Ambrose's chest. I would never be able to move him.

His hands tightened around my arms, sending shooting pains through my muscles. "Do you know how much you smell like her?" he whispered, so close that for one feverish, crazy second I thought he might kiss me.

His eyes were that of a corpse. He's dead on the inside.

Then suddenly he was sprawled on the floor three feet away. Henry stood with the fist he'd used to punch Ambrose still up in the air, as though prepared for a fist bump. Ambrose was rubbing the dark red spot on his cheek.

"Nice shot, dude," Alex said. Theo whistled, impressed.

"Leave," Henry growled, standing in front of me protectively. He pointed towards the open door.

"This isn't over," I heard Ambrose mutter as he got to his feet and scuttled off into the dark.

Henry turned to me, and his hands found my arms again, gently rubbing the sore spots where Ambrose had grabbed me. I was too stunned by what had happened and the speed of it all to speak.

"Are you okay?" he asked solemnly, catching my eye.

"Fine. I'm f-fine," I said, choking on my own voice.

A scuffling noise started up behind us, only a rustle at first, then growing louder.

"Oh boy," Henry exhaled and we all turned around to see what he was referring to. Two guys draped in sheets were running full speed at us, their arms outstretched. Theatrical growls emitted from their throats.

"We should book it," Alex suggested.

The four of us took off running as the sheets chased us. A red exit sign appeared on the wall ahead. I propelled myself forward as fast as I could go. I knew logically the boys wouldn't hurt us, but my adrenaline still screamed in response to the atmosphere and Ambrose's unwanted appearance.

As we reached the exit, our pursuers veered off to the left and disappeared, leaving us alone. I heard them laughing as they went. Cool air filtered through the door and I could hear people talking outside.

"Thank god," Theo moaned, stumbling out into the night. "I need a Valium."

I wondered if she was going to throw up. The boys trudged out behind her.

"Always taking care of the women," Alex joked to Henry, who rolled his eyes as Alex elbowed him in the chest. I was about to follow Henry out, when I heard a lone voice.

"Ariel..."

Confused, I turned to my right. I had definitely heard my name.

"Ariel..."

My heart thumped so hard that I worried I'd have to grab it with both hands and push it back into my chest. Whatever was haunting me had followed me there, just like Warwick had suggested.

That had been the plan, of course, but now I didn't know how to respond. A silent part of me had been skeptical, not thinking it would work. I could still feel the pulse beneath my feet, stronger and more rhythmic than ever. Dexter's heart.

I started to creep down the hall. It was barren, except for a stack of dilapidated milk crates at the end. My vision began to get fuzzy. Blood rushed into my temples.

I'm going to pass out was my last coherent thought as black pinpricks filled my eyes like wasps.

A child is standing in front of me, back against the wall. Hair chopped around the ears, face dirty with grime. I can't tell if it's a boy or a girl; they are at that young age where unless they're wearing pink or blue, it's hard to tell.

I walk slowly towards the child, compelled. Nerves jump and twitch beneath my skin, warning me of a danger I ignore. My blood is filled with ice.

Is it another trick, another costume? No. This is definitely a child. But not like any child I've ever seen.

And then it runs to me. Grabs my arms. Its touch burns into my skin. It shrieks up close and rancid breath stings my eyes.

Where there once was a face, there is now a screaming hole.

CHAPTER 14

I STAGGERED OUT of the exit, disoriented. Something had just happened, something I should remember. But my thoughts were on lock down. For a moment, I couldn't even remember where I was, or how long the span of time had been that I'd suddenly lost.

"Thanks for joining us," Alex said smugly, stubbing out his cigarette on the stone wall.

"Fire hazard," Theo muttered, rolling her eyes. She was busy fixing her bun, bobby pins in her teeth.

"Are you okay?' Henry asked, touching my arm. He pulled his fingers away and rubbed them together. He showed them to me; the pads were covered with soot. Oval-shaped ash marks stood out on the pale skin of my forearms. I rubbed them away—old houses could be so dusty.

"Any sign of Ambrose?" I asked groggily. All four of them shook their heads in unison. I turned to Theo. "Do you want to go home?"

"No!" she declared, shaking her head fervently. "I'm all right now. I just don't like it when things jump out at me. But I'll be fine for going back inside by ourselves. Unless Alex jumps at me."

"You wish," Alex said.

The way Theo clutched her bag like a stuffed animal to her chest didn't convince me. But she looked better, the color having had returned to her face. I didn't feel as amped up as I had earlier, which I knew had something to do with whatever I had forgotten.

The night was dark and full of voices. Our fellow Hell's Orphanage survivors were still milling around, talking about how scared or not scared they'd been inside. Stars filled the sky, clear and visible since we were farther out in the country.

"Are you sure you're up for it?" I asked Theo again. It was almost as though I were asking myself, too.

"Theo will be all right, she's a tough girl," Alex said. "Aren't you, babe?" He tried to put his arm around Theo's shoulders.

"Ew, c'mon." She wriggled out and stepped away, putting several feet of distance between them.

"Okay, the question now is, where can we hole up until everyone else has gotten out of Dodge?" I asked.

"How about over there?" Henry asked, and gestured towards an ugly, bushy jackpine squatting on the side of the yard. Barely visible behind the gnarled branches was a little wooden shack.

"Worth scoping out," I agreed.

We sneaked over behind the jackpine while the other haunted house patrons started shifting towards the front. The tiny cottage looked like something out of a fairy tale illustration, one that had been stained and torn with time and carelessness. Brown paint had peeled off the weathered wood in strips, and dirty white trim ran around the windows like a rotten gingerbread house.

Henry pushed at the crooked door. It creaked open, letting off a cloud of dust in the moonlight. The four of us exchanged glances. Alex nodded for Theo to go in first.

"Gee, thanks," she said grumpily. "Sacrifice your tiniest member." But she went into the darkened cottage, floorboards groaning in protest beneath her feet.

One at a time, we followed behind her. I inhaled the strong, stale smells of rainwater mold and decay. I shut the door behind us tightly.

Henry had brought two camping flashlights with him that he'd concealed in the waistband of his pants. He turned one on and pointed it at the ceiling, cutting through the gloom and lighting up the room rather brightly.

"Do you think they'll be able to see the light outside?" I asked.

"Shouldn't be able to." Henry frowned in concentration as he searched around for flaws. "I think the only window is that one with the shutters. But those should stop any light escaping. I doubt they're considering the idea that people are hanging behind, anyway."

"It's gross in here," Theo said, surveying the state of dirt and decrepitude. A metal bed held a mattress torn up by nesting mice. Boxes of surplus supplies were piled in the corner. Alex and Theo pawed through them, holding up glow sticks, rolls of yellowing Admit One tickets, corroded batteries.

"What exactly is it that we're doing?" Henry asked me, leaning up against the wall. The other flashlight stuck out in a silly, suggestive angle from his pants' pocket, and I busied my eyes elsewhere. "I'm just curious. Are we really going through with this whole seance bit?"

I didn't know exactly how to explain things now that I was on the spot. Alex and Theo had stopped scavenging and were staring at me too, their hands full of junk like two old women at a yard sale.

"That was my plan, yes," I said, aware of the defensive tone in my voice. "We're going to hang out here until the staff clears off, and then we'll go inside to hopefully...chat up some dead people."

"Just your typical Saturday," Theo said, dropping a handful of detritus back into the sagging box.

"You didn't really strike me as the law breaking type, Ariel," Alex observed. "Always doing your homework and wearing turtlenecks. I like this side of you. It's hot."

Henry scowled at him. "Shut up," he reprimanded. Then to me he asked, "As simple as that, then? A little b-and-e action?"

"As simple as that," I echoed, knowing it wasn't simple at all. "As long as we don't get caught."

"Well, then, let's not get caught," he said evenly, his gaze fixed on mine. The flashlight made his eyes glow amber, and cast sinister shadows on the wall behind his broad shoulders, like a figure creeping up on him.

A splintery table and mismatched chairs sat in the corner beneath a hand-carved shelf. Henry rooted around in the drawers and found an old deck of casino cards.

"Something to pass the time," he offered, shaking the card box.

Alex moved one of the chairs over and started pulling at the braided rug beneath it.

"What are you doing?" I asked. Every movement that boy made irritated me more.

"This rug is all damp and moldy," he complained. "I don't want my shoes ruined, they're new."

He tilted his foot so I could get a look at the Adidas in question. They looked like boy shoes to me, albeit squeaky clean. I rolled my eyes. Alex succeeded in yanking away the offending floor covering, which was falling apart in his hands. Underneath where the rug had been was a small, painted door.

"Look what I found," Alex said, kneeling down to get a closer look. "Where do you think this goes?"

"No idea," I said, crouching down beside him, irritation momentarily forgotten. The door was a perfect square, made of rough wood, only three and a half or four feet across. I scratched off some of the dark, colorless paint with my fingernail. "But I would love to know."

"Come help me with this," Alex instructed Henry, who was sitting down counting out the cards.

"I didn't know I was your servant," Henry grumbled, but he stood and came over to help anyway. A thin loop of rope was hooked to the bottom half. Both Alex and Henry took turns tugging at it, but the entry was either locked or stuck.

"If we had a crowbar," Henry suggested, sitting back on his heels. "Otherwise, I think it's hopeless."

"Oh well. Not important," Alex said, losing interest instantly as he jumped up and brushed off the knees of his khakis. He rubbed his hands together. "So, who brought the booze?"

"Nobody brought booze, idiot," Henry growled, his voice strained. He patted the deck he'd counted out. "Only the queen of hearts is missing, but we can use the joker instead."

"Whoopee," Alex scoffed, flopping down on his chair like a sulky child, his hands hanging in between his thighs. "Can we at least play for something?"

"Like what, pennies?" Henry asked.

"I was thinking more like each penny is a dollar, and we hit the ATM on the way back," Alex joked, but Henry just glared at him and started doling out the cards.

Theo was standing over by the window, silently keeping watch. A thin sliver of light came through the shutters and marred her face, throwing distortions across her cheeks and eyelids.

I stood by her and peered outside. It wasn't a great view, but I could see that the cars that had been parked on the lawn were clearing away, headlights bursting on two-by-two as they retreated through the gate.

"Can I ask you a question?" Theo asked me quietly, catching me off guard. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

I laughed gently at the unexpectedness, assuming her inquiry would be about Henry. "Of course. What's your question?"

"Are we doing this seance because..." She swallowed hard and I watched a lump rise and fall in her throat. "Because of your friend that disappeared?"

She pushed her glasses up on either side with both palms. The next words ran together as if they were one. "I mean, if you don't want to talk about it, I won't pry. I was just curious."

"That's not prying," I said gently. "I'm really surprised you've never asked me about Jenna before."

"I'm sorry," she said, her face chagrined. "I didn't..."

I put my hand on her arm to calm her down before she made herself feel worse. "No, no. You're fine. I had so many people walking on eggshells around me; it was nice to be treated like a person for once, and not just some pathetic loose end."

I swallowed hard and trained my eyes back through the shutters. That made me more nervous, so I scanned the room instead, clutching my elbows.

"To answer your question...maybe," I continued, trying to keep my voice steady despite how shaky I felt inside. "I don't think she's dead. But I'm not completely sure."

The boys peered up from their card game. Henry's brow was furrowed and I knew he was trying to decipher the look on my face. I attempted a weak smile. He and Alex looked down again, making themselves artificially busy with their cards.

"There's something here," I added. "And I think it has to do with her, or why she disappeared."

Theo had been nodding slowly the whole time. "That makes sense," she said finally. "Why you would want to come here. Did someone see her here after she went missing?"

"Yeah," I half-lied. I was the only one, and it had been in a nightmare, but still...

"I keep imagining what could have happened that night," I said. "She told me she was going to be back in a few hours, tops, and then I waited up until morning, freaking out. When I try to envision where she went, it's like a movie in my head, but I have no idea what scenes are right."

###

The last car inched out of the gate at ten o'clock. A middle-aged woman stepped out of the driver's side and shut the iron bars, then sped away like she felt happy to escape.

I pulled out my phone to call or text Corinne my cover about being at Theo's. The reception kept dropping to zero bars. I walked around the tiny interior of the shed, stepping over junk and dry leaves.

"Is anyone else getting crappy service?" I asked, looking around at my cohorts. Alex whipped out his phone and held it in front of him like he was in a commercial.

"Uh, yeah. That sucks," he muttered, glaring at his phone like it was a personal sleight. "This is 4G, it's supposed to pick up on Mars."

I finally held on to one bar enough to send a text through. I hoped Corinne would find it acceptable instead of a phone call. I imagined her passed out in front of the TV again, the afghan cockeyed over her bony knees. I wasn't too worried.

"Everybody's gone. Time to move," I instructed.

We exited the shed the way we'd come in and stood on the lawn, four awkward teenagers that had no idea what we were doing. High, ancient birch trees around the fence made us practically invisible, not like there were any close neighbors. Yet I felt exposed, vulnerable.

"Why does this feel like the lead-in to a news story?" Henry asked, and adopted a broadcaster voice. "Four teens arrested today for abandoned house shenanigans. When asked for comment, they said, 'Ariel made us do it.'" He grinned at me, and I bumped his shoulder with mine, happy to have him next to me in the gloom.

"We'll be careful," I assured him. "No shenanigans. Can you guys check the doors and see if any of them are open?"

The boys plodded off and disappeared around the side of the building. Meanwhile, Theo and I checked the row of windows on the back side. The place had seen its fair share of hard partying, and the evidence lay all over: empty liquor bottles, broken glass, twisted sandwich baggies. The Hell's Orphanage staff obviously hadn't bothered to clean up the backyard.

Many of the windowpanes had been broken in, and black garbage bags and grocery sacks had been taped inside the frames. Graffiti in wild colors marred the stone, tags bleeding together. Cigarettes and smashed beer cans lined the ground.

"I've never done anything like this before," Theo admitted, sounding giddy as she stood on her tiptoes to look inside. "Peering in windows, yes, but never actually stepping into somebody else's domain. This is really exciting."

"All that means is that we both need to get out more," I said, but I was smiling, the earlier trepidation I'd felt during the haunted house and Ambrose's assault all but forgotten.

Among the layers of graffiti, the shape of an orange devil's face stood out on the brick. Hell is closer than you think read the faded scrawl beneath. A large picture window that reached from above my head down to my waist had also been given the garbage bag treatment. Wind whistled through pinholes in the plastic, making it expand and contract.

I heard its heart, and now it's breathing. I frowned at the disturbing thought.

Alex and Henry came back around, their footfalls crunching on twigs and litter. Their faces were hidden in shadow, two wraiths in the night.

"Everything's locked up tight," Henry reported.

"I think we can sneak in through here," I said, gesturing towards the window. With careful fingers, I separated the bag and the tape, exposing a hole inside.

"Not exactly trying very hard to keep out intruders, are they?" Henry observed. "They've got padlocks up front. Did they get lazy back here?"

"Maybe that means we're invited," I said. "Who wants to go first?"

"Me!" Theo chirped, all of her earlier fear replaced by eagerness. She scrambled up on the sill, Alex giving her leg a last minute boost. When she was inside, she stuck her upturned thumb out for confirmation. "Just be careful of the glass, you guys. It's sharp."

Alex proceeded in next, his rotund behind filling the window frame before he landed with a plop inside. He towered over the rest of us shorties at over six feet, and he was built like a linebacker.

Henry and I watched from outside as the pair glided farther into the darkness. When we could no longer see them, Henry gestured for me to go next.

"Ladies first, to be cliche."

"I appreciate your cliche. It makes you sound like a gentleman. Unlike when Alex does it." I looked into the bleak hole. It's just a building. It can't hurt you.

Grasping the sides of the frame, I carefully avoided the broken glass still sticking out. I pulled myself up, balancing on the splintered wood and maneuvering my other leg over.

But the ledge was slimmer than I'd anticipated. I lost my grip, tumbling inside. I fell hard on my arm, the side of my skull rebounding off of the cement floor with a crack. Stars shot through my vision. The shock left me breathless as sadness flooded through me. Everything always falls apart, I thought in a flash.

So much for not getting hurt.

Henry scrambled in beside me. My head throbbed, the stars still sparkling, tiny dots of pain in my pupils. I was vaguely aware of how close he was as he leaned over me, assessing the damage.

"I'm so sorry," he said, as if it had been his fault instead of my lack of grace. He gently took up my arm, inspecting it. "You ripped this up pretty good, dear."

I sat up slowly and looked myself over, suddenly more aware of him touching me than I was of the pain. Bits of broken glass were lodged inside my flesh like peppermint bark. Blood bloomed from the cuts, spilling down my skin.

"You're bleeding," he said softly, his eyebrows cinched together again, still not letting go of me. I didn't want him to.

"I know. It doesn't hurt," I said in an equally soft tone. His face was so close. I had the sudden, desperate urge to kiss him.

"Blood doesn't bother you?" he asked skeptically, cocking one eyebrow.

I steadied myself, and swiftly picked out the shards of glass with my fingers, wincing only momentarily. "Not really. My friend Jenna and I used to be the neighborhood tomboys. My tree climbing was unparalleled."

My arm really didn't sting much, but I dug tissues out of my purse to sop up the wound. But my head was killing me, pounding harder with every throb of my pulse in my temples.

"You should go into medicine," Henry said.

"Because of my tree climbing?" I asked, confused.

"Well, that would be a useful skill, but I meant with your strong disposition."

"Don't I need to not suck at math to go into medicine?"

Henry scoffed, shaking his head at me. He sat back on his haunches, his knees brushing the dirty floor, and dropped my arm unceremoniously.

"We should just leave," he said firmly, his expression serious and his full lips pursed, giving him an aloof air. "You need to get that arm looked at. With all the bacteria and grime that's inside this place, you could get a nasty infection."

"I'm all right," I insisted. "We're doing this. Look at all the trouble we've already gone through."

I'd be damned before someone stopped me from getting answers when I'd come this far, even Henry. I hoisted my purse strap up on my shoulder and stood, while he offered his arm for support.

"I'm fine," I insisted.

"All right, but don't say I didn't warn you when they have to chop your arm off," he grumbled, shoving his hands into his sweatshirt pockets.

Realizing that Theo and Alex must be far into the orphanage by now, I started walking away from him. I wanted to put distance between us, so the unrelenting urge to kiss him would go away. It ached that I couldn't touch him, that I couldn't just reach out and brush my fingers across his warm skin.

In my eagerness to get away, I was glad he didn't see the fat drop of blood roll down my forehead and cascade to the floor.

CHAPTER 15

I WAS THANKFUL the dark concealed me. It made it easy to hide my actions as I blotted my bleeding head. From what I could tell, I wasn't too badly injured, but the thin trickle didn't completely stop, either.

Henry turned on one of his flashlights again. The other he'd sent off with Alex. He shined the beam in my direction and I winced.

"Thanks, now I'm blind," I said, awkwardly holding the back of my hand to my forehead, Scarlet O'Hara style.

"Your head is bleeding, too?" he asked, a current of frustration flowing from him.

"A little," I admitted meekly, dropping my hand.

"Ariel, come on. You should really go to the hospital."

"I hate hospitals," I said, shuddering. Blood slowly started to creep back down to my eyebrow. "No, thank you."

"Why are you being so incredibly difficult?" he asked, glaring at me. I felt my resolve momentarily waver under his harsh gaze.

"I'm not trying to be. I just want to follow this through," I said, putting my hands on my hips and standing my ground.

"You will be the death of me, I swear," he growled, stomping on ahead. "You drive me crazy sometimes, a girl who knows better and does the foolish thing anyway."

His words stung me deeply, sudden sorrow making it hard to swallow. A hundred romantic fantasies of us kissing in the moonlight crashed and burned.

"I didn't know I was so irritating." I managed to mask the hurt with all the anger I could muster.

"That's not what I meant," he said, frowning as he looked back at me.

"Let's keep going," I said flippantly. "I don't want to argue anymore. It never gets anybody anywhere."

Henry's flashlight bobbed throughout the rooms, illuminating now why our haunted orphanage experience had been confined to specific areas. I had once seen pictures of Chernobyl, a city destroyed by a nuclear plant explosion, in a textbook. The shattered belly of Dexter reminded me of that.

It was just as Warwick had described in class. Huge, gaping holes blew stale air through the halls like a giant had bashed his fists in. The bitter stink of mold and rotten wood lingered in every room. Creepy Halloween decorations were everywhere, skulls and spiders watching our progress.

More than anything the house felt sad, like the emotion had absorbed into the faded flowery wallpaper. The children there must have led terribly unhappy and probably short lives. I realized how tiny most of the rooms were, short ceilings only a few inches above us. In a way, it reminded me of a neglected dollhouse, tucked in the forgotten corner of a basement.

Something moved in the shadows and Henry swung his flashlight that way. Alex, ducking so his head wouldn't hit the low-set ceiling, came forward with Theo close behind.

"What's the hold up?" Alex asked at the same time that Theo said, "Oh my gosh, what happened?"

She took my arm and fussed over it as Henry had. It looked much better to my eyes, scabs already starting to form.

"I just fell, that's all," I said. My clumsiness embarrassed me, and I didn't want to dwell on it. I answered the next question before it was asked. "We're staying. We've gone to too much trouble. This is nothing some Neosporin and bandages won't fix."

"She's being as stubborn as possible," Henry told them, still sounding angry. Then he turned to me. "We got inside the place, so what's our next move?"

"We need to find somewhere to hold the seance. Preferably a table. Or even a good flat expanse of floor. We should split up."

"Um, no, we shouldn't," Alex said nervously, rubbing his hand down his pant leg. "That's always when the bad stuff happens on _Scooby Doo._ "

I rolled my eyes at this wimpy development. "Theo and I can go together..."

"You're going to think this is sexist of me," Henry interjected, "But I think maybe it should be one girl and one guy together. Between your injuries and Theo's phobias"—Theo wrinkled her button nose at him—"Sorry. It might be a good idea."

"Yeah, you need a strong man to protect you," Alex smarmed at Theo.

"Are you freaking kidding me?" Theo asked, one notch below yelling. She clenched her fists below her hips. "The one who was just whining about an old cartoon?"

"God, I'm joking! I'm the one who said you could take care of yourself, remember? Lighten up, Morticia."

"Wow, that's a new one," Theo spat, her eyes glowing with anger. Alex seemed taken aback, like no one had ever not laughed at one of his jokes. "Did you use all two of your brain cells to come up with it?"

"Enough, you two. We're wasting time. Your mom said we had to be back around 11:30, right, Theo?"

She nodded, stepping away from Alex and pushing her glasses up.

"Then we need to get moving again," I said. "We're wasting time."

We split up the way that Henry had suggested, despite the tension between our separate pairs. I was on edge and in no mood to argue. After Alex and Theo had departed on their search, Henry and I stood awkwardly across from each other. The sound of their bickering faded away.

"Let's get going," I instructed. "I thought I saw a table back in that room full of cages."

Setting off, Henry and I headed in what we hoped was that general direction. It was so easy to get turned around inside the building, and the paranoid feeling returned that the rooms were rearranging themselves. The orphanage was like a maze, especially with only the light from Henry's flashlight and the small pink one I kept in my purse for emergencies.

Even though I tried to ignore Henry, my eyes kept wandering to him, even in the shadows. There were so many words left unsaid between us. I drove Henry crazy, huh? He drove me crazy every moment I was around him, and even when I wasn't. If I wasn't wanting to kiss him, I was trying to figure him out.

After ten minutes of getting lost in the winding hallways and blocked off areas, we wound up in the right room. I shone my light around the wall of cages. On closer inspection, as dust motes danced through the skinny, silvery bars, it looked like the cages had been purchased at the pet store. A few still had the sticky remnants of price tags wound around them.

"No table," Henry said, sweeping his flashlight around.

Back in the room with the rocking chair and the skeleton closet, we investigated, keeping our distance from each other.

"You would think something as simple as a table wouldn't be hard to find," I grumbled.

Henry had crept over to the closet door, pushing the rocking chair aside with his foot. He smirked in anticipation as he nudged the door open. I got closer and peered over his shoulder. The closet was empty inside.

"What the hell?" I asked, a chill going through me.

He tilted his head, inspecting the back wall of the closet. He leaned in and tapped the ceiling with his fingers. Shoving his hand through, it revealed two flaps. The obviously plastic skeletons flopped down as he took a step back.

"All parlor tricks," he said softly, reaching out and rubbing my shoulder. My heart leapt into my throat, but I shrugged away from his touch. I hadn't forgotten his hurtful declaration.

We continued deeper into the orphanage, but we were having no luck. He shone his light down another thin hallway. It was pitch black beyond where even the strong beam couldn't penetrate.

"I'm not going any farther that way," Henry said resolutely. "I don't like the looks of that ceiling. It could collapse at any moment." He gestured to the support beams, sagging low and water damaged.

"I'll go, then. It's not going to cave in just because we happen to be here," I said, shuffling around him.

He caught my arm to stop me. His grasp was gentle but insistent, and I knew he was plenty strong enough to hold me back. "It could be dangerous," he pleaded. "Not only the ceiling—I bet there are weak spots in the floor."

I stood before him, acutely aware that our lips were merely inches apart, and that I could feel his breath on my skin. I wondered if I was the only one so attentive, but as his eyes became heavy-lidded and his breathing sped up, I got my answer.

"I can take care of myself, too," I said gently, not taking my eyes off of his full lips. I wanted to take the bottom one in my teeth and run my tongue across it. The thought made my skin go hot.

"I don't want anything to happen to you," he whispered, inching closer to me. "That's all I meant. I care about you."

I could almost feel his lips on mine.

"Heads up!" Alex yelled from behind Henry, blinding me again as he shone his light over us. Henry dropped my arm and we broke away from each other, as if caught in an embarrassing scene. I blinked rapidly, my eyes stinging as blood thundered in my ears.

"You can put your flashlight down now," I complained. "This isn't a police interrogation."

Alex lowered his light. He didn't seem to notice how flustered we were.

Theo was on his heels. "We found the dining room. Should be a good spot. All the original furniture seems to be there, and in pretty good condition. Big table."

Following them back around and up a short set of stairs, we arrived at the remains of a kitchen. The appliances had been ripped out, leaving gutted spaces with bouquets of blackened electrical wiring. The black and white checkered floor tile was cracked and peeling up in spots.

"This way," Theo gestured, and we went through a door falling off of its hinges into the dining room.

It was a narrow room, but had probably once been grand. High-backed chairs sat around an elongated mahogany table. Two silver candelabras, layered with dust, decorated the center of the torn red table runner. I brushed dust off of a chair at the table's head.

The dizziness and the headache had returned, blood throbbing at my temples again. But I was so close. If I gave up now, I would drive myself nuts with maybes. Just like I had over the summer, when I'd locked myself in the house and refreshed Jenna's profile page every five seconds.

I swung my flashlight, taking a better look around. An oversized, gaudy portrait of a man hung above the fireplace. I had never seen a fireplace so wide, enough to fit a whole tree. A pile of ashes remained in the grate from some long-ago fires, and a stomach-churning smell like burnt fruit wafted out.

Alex was making jokes, as usual. He had picked up a small plastic skull somewhere and was puppeting the mouth, adopting a Cryptkeeper voice.

"Welcome kiddies," he said. "Would you like to dance to death?" He worked the skull's chompers and made it go after Theo's bun. She made a disgusted sound and scurried over to me.

"He's such an idiot," she whispered, her arms crossed tightly.

"After today, we don't ever have to talk to him again," I whispered back. To the boys, I raised my voice and continued, "Everybody take a seat. We're running short on time."

I sat at the head of the table and the others pulled out chairs. The bleeding from my forehead had finally stopped, and I stuffed the red-brown tissues into the side pocket of my purse. I set the purse down, unzipping the main section, and started taking out Corinne's supplies.

"What do you have there?" Henry asked, leaning closer for a better look.

I identified the objects as I set them out. "Four white candles, to represent us; one red candle, to represent whatever or whomever we're contacting; a small mirror, to act as a portal; and different pieces of metal to act as conduits." Finally, I pulled out the seance book.

A picture was bookmarked in between the pages, showing a group of orphans photographed at Dexter. I'd printed it off from the lone website I'd found about Dexter. The photo was faded to gray tones, and since someone had scanned it, there were scratches and cracks. The orphans were standing before the iron gate.

Henry picked up the photo, reading the caption below.

"Orphans at Dexter House, 1926, with John Dexter the third." He nodded toward the ugly portrait above the fireplace. "I'm guessing that's the same guy."

I glanced over at the photocopy, too. Dexter was standing behind the row of somber children, his rough, lined face shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat. All of the kids' hair was chopped short, and they were wearing what looked like tattered nightgowns or potato sacks. For a moment, that style seemed familiar, but I couldn't remember where else I'd seen it.

Henry rubbed the orphans' picture with his thumbs. "Did you laminate this?"

I nodded. Everyone at the table burst into laughter.

"I was worried it might get something on it. Ectoplasm or...s-something," I stuttered, feeling lame.

"Spirit fluids?" Alex asked, causing the three of them to crack up again.

I gazed up at the painting as they collected themselves. The man gave me the shivers, unwanted thoughts worming into my head. It reminded me of an evil painting I'd seen in an old movie, one that cursed anyone who looked upon it. And it made me think of the old fable that a soul could be trapped inside a photograph. The oil painted black eyes never left mine, glaring directly at me.

I decided that Dexter didn't like me in his house.

"Where's the Ouija board?" Alex asked, looking at what I'd set out with confusion.

"I didn't bring one."

"What kind of fake seance is this?" he demanded. I gritted my teeth, which didn't help the pain shooting through my temples.

Rain drummed on the roof and a leak in the ceiling let a few drops in. A storm had erupted outside, volleys of thunder rattling the walls. Funny, it had seemed like a clear night before we came in. In Michigan, a storm could start on one side of the sky while the other half was sunny and clear, but still...

"It was a dark and stormy night," Henry recited.

"Be serious," I said, scowling at him. I was still stung by what he'd said. As I took my seat, I stumbled a bit on the way down.

"Are you okay?" both Henry and Theo asked at the same time. They looked at each other, wordlessly communicating. It reminded me of my parents, and irritated me even more than Alex's relentless bad comedian routine.

"I. Am. Fine," I repeated for the umpteenth time. "Let's just do this. Oh...before I forget."

I rummaged through my purse and pulled out Eleanor's necklace. I had brought it in a plastic sandwich baggie for safekeeping.

"Fancy," Theo observed. "Wouldn't want the ghosts to see you without your fine jewels."

"Are you going to pick on me, too?" I asked wearily, shooting her a glare.

"Sorry." She bit her bottom lip.

I looped the necklace around my neck and attached the clasp. The green stone was already promisingly warm.

"Does anyone have a lighter?" I asked. Alex retrieved one from his khaki pocket and I gestured for him to light the candles. When the flames were flickering, we joined hands around the table. Theo and Henry held mine and Alex held Theo's, much to her trepidation.

"Gross." Theo moaned, cracking one eye.

"What?" I asked.

"His hand is wet," she said, sliding hers out of Alex's and wiping it on her skirt.

"I have a sweating problem, okay?" he said. "And FYI, I'm not holding hands with Henry."

"You don't have to. As long as we form a chain," I said, looking down at the open _Modern Seance Methodology_. Theo cautiously took Alex's hand back. I breathed in and out deeply, almost meditative, and began chanting the text.

"We gather here to call the spirits that have been left behind," I recited. "He who cannot face death, and so has turned away. We call thee to our gathering."

Henry chuckled quietly. " _Thee_?"

"Keep it on thee low," Alex said in a flawless old man accent. Both he and Henry laughed, and I squinted at them.

"You're really not funny," I said. Then I glared at Henry. It was like he was trying to irritate me.

"I'm sorry, but I warned you," he said, smiling apologetically with his eyebrows tilting up. He laced his fingers through mine, instead of just grasping my hand.

I tried to focus back on the book, but I was more aware of how he was running his thumb back and forth across my hand. He didn't seem to notice he was doing it. My heart beat rapidly, sending my pulse rocketing. All was forgiven.

The amulet grew almost uncomfortably hot against my skin. I resisted the urge to yank it off by convincing myself I only had to keep it on for a short time. I expected the stone to emit a glow or something, but outwardly, it appeared the same.

"We gather here to extinguish the flame that keeps you from finding the dark," I recited, hearing Henry chuckle under his breath. The candles were giving me tunnel vision and I blinked, mentally envisioning the bottle of Tylenol at home. "Appear to us, so that we may send you on your final journey. Appear! Appear!"

A great gust of air blew out the flickering candles. A second later, a lightning bolt shot down from the ceiling through the center of the table. The accompanying boom deafened me, and I went blind.

We are starving. He won't feed us. We are locked in the room all day long. I haven't seen the sun in weeks. I don't remember what it feels like.

A little girls, cuts on her arms.

This is what happens when you disobey me.

A little boy, emaciated from hunger. In a box beneath the ground.

This is what happens when you try to destroy me.

I am on fire. My skin burns, the pain like nothing I've ever known before.

Jenna stands with her face in the corner of the room. Weeping.

CHAPTER 16

I WOKE UP looking at a sky full of stars. I hadn't rested so well in months. At first, due to my disorientation, I thought I was in my backyard. Like when Hugh used to pitch a tent and we'd pretend to camp behind the house, me in my sleeping bag, him making shadow puppets.

Then I heard sobbing.

My eyes darted around, trying to focus. I was lying on the orphanage's front lawn by the gate, which threw a shadow over me. The source of the crying was Theo, who was sitting back on her haunches. Tears streamed down her small, pretty face beneath the frames of her glasses.

Alex was pacing back and forth on the hard ground. "We're going to get caught," he said, sounding close to hysterical. "This is trespassing. And I knew it, and I came along anyway, because hey, I have no life. I don't even like you guys and I'm going down for you. No, I'm not."

"Shut up, Alex," Henry warned, glaring at him.

"Let's just chuck her in the jeep and go," Alex pleaded, still fidgeting. "We can take her to a hospital—"

"And explain what exactly?" Henry was sitting stone still beside me. None of them showed awareness that I had woken up."That we were trespassing, holding some idiotic seance like a bunch of ten-year-olds, and then Ariel started having a fit?"

"I didn't throw a fit," I mumbled, sitting up from the rain-soaked ground. The back of my clothes felt damp, and I could tell my hair was tangled.

"Oh, god," Theo sobbed, taking her hands from her face. "You're okay!"

"Don't celebrate yet," Henry said sternly. His tone seemed very harsh, not what I expected from him. "She had a seizure."

"What are you talking about? No, I didn't."

"That's what it looked like," he argued, his nostrils flaring. "One minute you were chanting from that goddamn book and the next minute you were on the floor, twitching."

His cheeks were flushed bright crimson and his eyes were on fire. The birch trees in the distance framed him like bright posts. I could tell that he was shaking, and I wondered why he suddenly seemed to care so deeply about my safety.

"I'm sure it was nothing," I said brightly. I stretched my arms and energy flowed through my limbs. I felt an intoxicating rush of power. The lawn looked beautiful in the light from the stars, every grass blade glowing with ethereal fairy light. I wondered if Alex had slipped me drugs. "I feel fantastic, like I just took a week's worth of vitamins. What's the big deal?"

Three faces showed nothing but doubt, like I was lying to make them feel better.

"Don't you remember?" Theo asked, quiet as a church mouse.

"I don't really remember anything after...I was chanting and then I thought I saw lightning..." Whatever it was, it didn't seem important. My hand flew to my neck, seeking the pendant. The space between my collarbones felt burnt, but my neck was bare.

"What happened to my necklace?"

"You tore it off and threw it on the floor in the...when you were...before," Theo stuttered, wiping tears from her cheeks. "I couldn't find it. I got all of the other supplies together, though. I figured you would want them."

She held up my stuffed purse.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Henry asked quietly, his eyes staring intensely into mine. I remembered my earlier urge to kiss him, and licked my lips without thinking. I wanted to eat him alive.

"Let's go," I said, and the words had a double meaning.

"Do you want to go back and get your necklace?" he asked, not noticing how I'd started leering, or how I was tilting my chest up towards him.

I shook my head vehemently, surprising myself.

"No. Let's get out of here." The euphoric cloud in my head began to dissipate, replaced by faint anxiety.

As if on cue, police sirens started up in the distance. Whether they were coming for us or not didn't matter. We ran off the lawn, the front gate slamming behind us loudly. If we hadn't been found out before, that would have done it.

Hopping into the Jeep, Alex gunned the engine before we'd had a chance to put on seat belts. Tires squealing, it tore away from the curb.

I watched through the grimy rear window as the orphanage became a small dot in the distance, then disappeared as the road curved. The earlier elation I'd felt was gone, leaving a deep feeling of unease. I never wanted to go back there.

There was something dwelling in the orphanage, but it was no friend of mine.

###

Claire and Hugh arrived home safely on Sunday, both cheerful and tired from their trip.

"How was the wedding?" I asked, helping them inside with their luggage.

"Just fine," Claire said. Her skin looked more tan than usual, even though they had headed east. "The bride looked beautiful. She lost twenty pounds to fit into her dress."

"Typical wedding. A yawner," Hugh said. "The most noteworthy part was the best man putting one too many away before he gave the toast. I'm going to check my email and see if Steve posted the video." My father, ever the romantic.

Corinne already had her minivan packed. She left, none the wiser. I had carefully returned her supplies back to the trunk the instant I got a chance. Thanks to Theo, nothing had been harmed. For the first time in my life, I was convinced Corinne had no psychic ability.

Claire noticed the bump on my head as soon as we got back in the house, despite my attempts to disguise it with my hair.

"How did you manage that?" she asked with concern, pushing the hair delicately away and gently prodding the scabby lump with her finger.

"Bumped my head on one of the cupboard doors," I lied. It was a good lie, since I was always leaving the cupboards open when I unloaded the dishwasher.

"You have got to stop doing that," she chided. "You really got yourself. Ouch."

I had tried putting a bandage over it, but the split was in a terrible spot on my hairline. I hoped it wouldn't scar too noticeably.

I wore long sleeves and turtlenecks for a week, since it was harder to explain the scuffs on my arm. Not to mention the rectangular burn mark I had found on my chest while examining it in the mirror.

Even though I hadn't made contact with anything at the orphanage, and had gotten no answers for the trouble, calm settled over me. There was no way Jenna was there. It was crowded by some other, darker energy.

Nothing could drag me back to that creepy house, anyway. Whatever had been tormenting me before finally left me alone. My wall stayed silent, and no phantom voices whispered behind doors.

At least for now.

###

Our seance members only briefly discussed what had happened at the orphanage. But somehow the experience seemed to bind us together. Instead of ignoring each other at school as we had done before, we all sat together in the commons. Alex and Henry began hanging out quite a bit, playing video games and having endless discussions about frags and head shots. Yet it was as though we all silently agreed to drop the subject that had caused our alliance. Alex still drove Theo and me nuts, of course; some things never change.

Ambrose Slaughter never acknowledged his drunken harassment of me, and I was happy to ignore it, hoping it was just an intoxicated mistake.

I found that I didn't think about Jenna as much, but I didn't necessarily feel good about that. She just slipped out of my thoughts more easily.

A week after the seance, my parents and I went to a movie. I didn't pay much attention to the screen; it was a maudlin, tedious drama. The actors leaked perpetual Visine out of their eyes, talking in high-pitched tones only a dog could hear. I was suspicious that my parents were trying to make up for my shut-in summer by taking me there.

The darkened auditorium made my eyelids droop, and an elderly man snored loudly in the front row. I excused myself and shuffled out past my seated parents to go buy snacks. In the well-lit red and gold lobby, I got in the back of the concession line.

A group of semi-popular girls from school chatted ahead of me in grating, nasal voices. I shifted uncomfortably, hoping the line would move faster. I would have just gone back to the yawnfest movie, but I was grimly determined to secure some gummy bears.

"Her purse is totally a Vuitton," a red-haired girl in skinny jeans said.

"It looks like a knock off to me," said another girl, who was wearing ridiculously oversized black sunglasses.

The redhead scolded her. "Why would she need to buy a knock off? Do you know how much her dad made last year? He owns seven businesses."

Of course. They were talking about Lainey, their idol.

"I know," Sunglasses shot back defensively. "I have a membership at Desert Star."

I tried not to pay attention to them, but it was hard since they were right in front of me. The line sluggishly moved along. A red-faced father wrangling two sticky fingered children got his turn. The kids kept touching the glass on the display case as he fired off a list of snacks.

"Did you guys hear?" chimed in another girl with an ear-splitting high voice. "Henry Rhodes asked Lainey out yesterday."

All the breath was sucked out of me, and the details of my surroundings came into vivid focus. What were they talking about?

"That's old news," said the redhead. "It's not like it's surprising. Of course he asked her out."

"It was only a matter of time," Sunglasses agreed. "They, like, belong together."

All of a sudden I felt like the time Jenna tried to pierce my naval. Like I was going to pass out and throw up at the same time. The girls quickly ordered a small box of popcorn between the four of them and departed.

As I mumbled my order to the concession clerk, images rushed through my head, too fast for me to catch and identify them. I paid for the snacks, barely aware of what I had ordered, and headed back to the theater.

I zoned out for the rest of the movie, unaware of the screen. I'd seen Henry a bunch of times this week, and he'd acted normally, his semi-flirting routine. He'd sat at my table, smiled at me. He hadn't said a word about Lainey, and I didn't even remember seeing them together.

I shoved the unopened box of gummy bears deep into the folded seat, the idea of eating them making me sick.

###

My phone rested snugly beneath my pillow, where I was trying to smother it. I kept pulling it out, wanting to text Henry, to ask him directly. But then I'd shove the phone away, too afraid of the truth. I hadn't been this nervous in months, and I had no idea how to approach the subject so boldly.

I took a shower and brushed out my hair for longer than necessary, trying to keep myself busy. But Henry filled up every space in my rogue thoughts. Why would he date Lainey when he'd said she wasn't his type? Why wouldn't he tell me?

I finally fell into bed, hoping for a dream to push Henry out. But my sleep was empty, and doubts instantly plagued me when I woke up.

"They said he asked her out," I reported to Theo when we were in the commons waiting for the first bell. "Not just that they were dating. But that he initiated it, he chased after _her_."

"Was the verb "chased" actually used?" she asked, biting the glittery blue polish flaking off her tiny fingernails.

"I don't remember," I flopped my head down on my arms, feeling seasick, like the table was moving. I gritted my teeth, my jaw locking. "Obviously he enjoys going after girls, though; it's his m.o. Typical male with their stupid hard-to-get crap."

When I peered up at her, Theo's bottom lip had disappeared under her teeth. Trying to think of something to say, perhaps.

"Don't get too upset about it," she said gently. "Even if it is true, and you don't know that yet, he's not that special. Plenty of boys in this school are just as cute. And some might be less full of themselves."

"You think he's full of himself?" I asked, sitting up. The thought had occurred to me, of course, but I didn't often consider what other people thought of Henry.

She shrugged, picking lint off of her rainbow leggings. "All guys like that are. Look at Alex. Just don't think he's irreplaceable."

"Thanks." But I didn't think that anyone else like Henry existed. He was the only one of his kind. And true to what she'd said that first day, Lainey had snatched him up.

Two energetic cheerleaders replaced McPherson on the morning announcements, startling me out of my gloomy daydreams.

"It's October, Brianna!" said girl number one, her voice gratingly peppy. My eye twitched.

"Yeah, it's that time of year! Do you know what that means, Ashley?" Girl number two sounded like she'd had a lobotomy. No one was that cheerful outside of a cartoon.

"I dunno...oh yeah, Halloween!" Ashley replied.

Wow. Did you come up with that all by yourself?

"Not just Halloween," Brianna chided her. They were in a competition to out-pep one another. "The annual Hawthorne Halloween dance!"

There were murmurs of excitement throughout the room. I groaned and dropped my face in my hands. Freshman hadn't been allowed to the dance, so this was the first year I was eligible. The Halloween dance was the second biggest dance of the year next to prom, combining Homecoming and a winter formal.

"Attendees can wear full costume, or formal wear with or without costume accents," Brianna continued.

"As long as they abide by the Hawthorne dress code," Ashley chimed in.

Dances didn't usually bug me. I thought they were silly and the few I'd attended in middle school had been pretty pointless. The boys with sweaty hands and bathed in cologne, stepping on my toes during our group dates.

But now that there was someone I would want to go with, I felt crushed. It didn't help that I saw Henry and Lainey together in the halls, her laughing and leaning on him, Henry grinning that painfully endearing grin. I dashed away so that he didn't notice me. Confusion ruled my brain and I couldn't focus on any of my classes that day, my thoughts scattering like fragments of broken glass.

During history, I took up Warwick's request to take a few papers to the secretary. As I was exiting the office, I saw McPherson hurrying out the exit door. It was the middle of the day, just after lunch.

What was he doing leaving during school hours? I stared after him, feeling myself frown. He didn't notice me, but it looked like he was late for an important date, like the white rabbit in _Alice in Wonderland_.

In all of my classes with Henry, I tried to ignore him. When I felt him staring at me, I made sure to look away. It hurt to look at him, like barbed wire wrapped around my heart. I couldn't bring myself to ask him whether the gossip was true or not, and seeing them flirt in art, her rubbing her hand across his back, was the last straw.

I decided it was time to give up on ever being with Henry Rhodes. It might hurt, but it would hurt worse if I allowed myself to think that there would ever be anything between us.

CHAPTER 17

"I'VE NEVER ACTUALLY been to a dance and I survived," Theo said. "No big deal."

We were lounging in her living room after school. She was sitting with her back against the bottom of the worn couch, a mug of tea perched between her knees.

"I have," I said grumpily. "I know they're nothing special, so I don't know why it's bothering me. They're never as fun as they're meant to be. I just wish people didn't talk about it all the time. "

Theo leaned back, the fringe of her hair fanning out on the faint plaid cushion. "You're exaggerating."

"Only a little. All day I've been hearing about dresses and whether limos are a worthwhile investment."

"Anything to make them feel important," Theo said, then grinned at me. "But now we're talking about it."

"Good point," I said, biting my nail. Her cats, Persephone and Pandora, strutted into the room. Pandora jumped onto the couch, nuzzling next to me as I petted her rabbit-like white fur. It came off in little puffs, like dandelion fluff.

"I hope you're not allergic," Theo said, sipping her tea.

"I would be sneezing," I assured her. "Hugh and Claire have just never had pets, they're both too busy to take care of one, and I killed my only goldfish by feeding him ten times in one day."

Theo's eyebrows shot up to her hairline and she laughed, then blushed deeply. "Sorry, I don't mean to laugh at your unfortunate fish."

"It's fine, I'm not broken up about it." I changed the subject. "Hey, here's something that doesn't require dancing shoes. I saw our nemesis McPherson fleeing school property all mysterious-like earlier today."

"Maybe he had a board meeting," Theo suggested.

"Maybe," I admitted sheepishly. I hadn't thought about anything normal like that, since my brain was wired to go to the wackiest possibility. "But maybe not. Maybe it has something to do with his mysterious locked room conversation."

"Hmm. Well, I think it's definitely worth investigating." Theo's green eyes began to sparkle. She set her tea down and turned towards me, causing Pandora to get irritated and spring off of the couch over Theo's shoulder.

"I just don't want him to get too suspicious," I said cautiously. "Especially when he already caught me following him."

"From what you said, he just caught you in the hallway," Theo countered. "You're a student, what does he expect?"

"Fair enough."

Theo was deep in thought, and I wondered what kind of magical things went on inside her brain, what deep forests and sparkling rivers she saw.

"Do you think he still lives with his mom?"she asked randomly, looking at me.

"It's possible, I guess." I chuckled. "Why?"

"When a dude is over thirty and still shacking up with mommy, it's always a sign of a homicidal maniac...according to the news," Theo added, tapping her temple with one ink-smudged finger. "We should go on a little fact-finding mission."

"Are you suggesting we locate his house and spy?" I asked, pretending to be taken aback.

"Nothing better to do. I'm bored," Theo said, shrugging.

When one is in doubt, it's best to check the internet. Relocating to her computer (I had another short burst of jealousy at the fact that she even _had_ her own computer, despite the fact that it was passe for most people) we sat down and tried to determine our game plan.

"Where do we start?" I asked.

"With the basics." Theo typed in the address for the school's website. It was pretty comprehensive, allowing parents to check our grades throughout the marking period so that it was impossible to lie and they knew when to berate us.

A list of the entire staff's names and addresses were neatly compiled on one page, with McPherson at the top. We mapped his address and Theo printed directions, making a neat crease in the paper.

Outside, the sun was beginning to dip low in the orangy sky. We retrieved our bikes, and crunched through dry leaves in the yard. Ms. Vore was apparently not keen on raking.

McPherson's house was about ten minutes away, in the opposite direction from Hawthorne. We biked there in silence, the chilly, autumn-scented air blowing in our faces. Polka dot ribbons tied to the handlebars of Theo's bike fluttered gently. The leaves were falling faster now, the trees half-bare.

The house itself was plain. I don't know what I had been expecting, possibly an iron fortress or at least a sign reading "evil lair." But instead, it had crisp white siding and a meticulously clipped lawn. A neat little orange wreath hung on the front door.

Theo and I knelt behind the shrubs around his equally neat and tidy mailbox, laying our bikes flat on the grass.

"All right, we're here. Now what?" I whispered. She was the one with the imaginary degree in espionage.

Theo squinted, gazing at the house through the gaps in the shrub branches. The driveway was empty, and there was no sign that anyone was home—no lights on in any of the windows, no flickering TV.

"Let's go up to the house," she insisted. We hid our bikes beneath the bushes and crept around the back, keeping parallel to a line of clipped, ugly crab apple trees. Theo boldly strode over to the back side of the house, to a line of low windows. She started peered inside, shielding from the glare with her cupped hand.

"Now I know I'm doing too much trespassing," I muttered. Theo looked back at me quizzically.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked. I shook my head and joined her at the window.

Inside was sparse, plain furniture: a white couch, a few tables, and a TV. No photographs or pictures anywhere on the empty walls. No decorative touches whatsoever. It almost looked like he had just moved there.

"I've heard of minimalist, but this is clinical," Theo said.

"Yeah, not really much to see here," I agreed, glancing over my shoulder. I didn't feel like I was being watched, exactly, but I could see right into both of his neighbor's houses, and it would only take someone peering in at the right angle for us to be noticed.

Theo had already crept over to the back door and was jiggling the knob.

"Locked," she declared.

"We should probably get going. He's bound to come back any minute, and I don't feel like getting caught in his house, or even on his property."

"Why is it different than being at the orphanage?" Theo asked, looking genuinely confused.

"Because this is our principal's private property," I said, sounding unbelievably nerdy. "It's wrong. We could get in a lot of trouble."

"What about over there?" Theo asked, distracted, as she gestured towards a little shed set apart from the house. She meandered over and tried pulling at the shed's door handles, but they were locked, too.

"Why does he have to lock everything?" she asked, annoyed.

"Uh, because he doesn't want people breaking in?" I suggested.

"Do you smell that?" she asked, wrinkling her nose. I did as soon as she said it; it was a stale, moldy smell, strong enough to make me gag. Like something was rotten inside.

"Gross," I said, and we frowned at each other. It didn't seem to fit the picture of the spotless showroom house. Her face had gone ashen, and I could tell she was getting spooked.

The sound of a car pulling up made us move. We ducked behind the crab apple trees as McPherson zipped his car into the driveway. My pulse stomped my eardrums, and I silently prayed that we'd become invisible, like children who think if they shut their eyes they'll disappear.

His headlights blasted on the trees in the backyard, then shut off. After a moment, he exited the vehicle and stormed up the sidewalk to the front door, which slammed seconds later.

Without words, we bolted down the driveway and retrieved our bikes. We pulled the bikes upright and hopped on, pedaling away as fast as we could. My legs burned as I attempted to gain speed, but fear propelled me. I could hear Theo's breath huffing out in gasps.

I heard a car behind us and glanced behind my shoulder. Was McPherson chasing us? Had he seen us take off? But it was just a stranger in a red truck who didn't even look at us as he passed.

"Wasn't the plan that we were going to spy on him?" Theo asked breathlessly as we slowed down, having put distance between ourselves and McPherson.

"The plan was to determine if he was living with his mom, if I recall correctly," I said sarcastically. She stuck her tongue out at me. "Besides, we both ran away, not just me."

"Didn't you see him? He was not in the best mood," Theo said. Her shoulders shuddered, and she took her hand off of the handlebars to push up her glasses.

"Exactly. If he had caught us snooping, he probably would have tied us up and stuck us in his unnaturally clean basement."

As we passed the next street, I caught a flash of blue out of the corner of my eye. A little girl wearing a blue coat was creeping down the sidewalk, her hair falling in her eyes. _Trying not to step on cracks. It would break her mother's back._

"Careful!" Theo shouted. I braked on my pedals, lurching hard as I gripped the handlebars. A parked car sat mere inches from my front tire. I would have hit it if I'd kept zoning out. I looked around, but the little girl must have scampered off.

"Where did you go?" Theo asked, reaching out for my shoulder.

"Just thinking," I mumbled, trying to shake the fogginess out of my head. I couldn't look Theo in the eye, too busy searching the road.

"What do you think was in the shed?" she asked as we finally biked into her driveway unharmed. "It smelled disgusting, like sweaty feet with old socks."

We parked the bikes up against the fence separating our lawns. I was shaking so hard I could barely hold mine up.

"I don't know," I replied, thinking it over in my brain now that we were safe. "But whatever it was, it didn't belong there."

###

"I like to call this test 'the kicker'," Mr. Vanderlip said smugly during geometry. He fondled his garish purple tie, sliding his hand up and down. "Does anyone want to guess why?"

"Because it'll kick our a—er, butts?" One girl called meekly from the back row.

Vanderlip's thin-lipped smile spread. It was not attractive. I was surprised to note a wedding band on his finger, and found myself trying to guess what a treasure his wife must be.

"Precisely," he said. "This'll separate the men from the boys."

"What about the girls?" someone else muttered, but Vanderlip ignored her.

"Friday is D day, people," Vanderlip announced, tapping the chalkboard with his nails. "The test is comprised of a random selection of problems from this entire marking period. No study sheet. Be prepared."

Just great. Another thing to be anxious about. As if I needed another reason with missing friends, snotty girls, and my crush running off with the snottiest one of all.

I hadn't spoken to Henry since I'd overheard his dating status at the movie theater. I had been trying my best to avoid him, which wasn't easy considering how many classes we had together. I went back and forth from feeling like an idiot, remembering his words about my being the death of him, and feeling betrayed.

Either I was naive, or I had been tricked. Or both. I didn't know which option was worse.

He caught up to me one day when I wasn't moving fast enough to get away.

"Why have you been avoiding me?" he asked bluntly.

I kept my eyes forward, hoping he would get the hint.

"I've been busy," I said curtly. "A lot going on."

"So busy that you couldn't even talk to me for a week?" he asked, sounding unconvinced. "Are you working on a time machine or a cure for cancer or something?"

"Ha ha, very funny," I said, rolling my eyes.

"It wasn't a joke. So you've been busy. Okay. Are we still on for studying tonight? I made sure to clear my empty schedule for you."

I had completely forgotten about our tutoring sessions, hoping that he would forget, too. Vanderlip's words about the kicker echoed in my mind in his unpleasant frog voice.

I sighed, breathing in the stale school air. I couldn't flunk, so I was stuck. "Yeah, we're still on. If Lainey says it's all right."

"If Lainey says...?" he repeated, scowling. "What does Lainey have to do with it?"

School was not the place to talk about it. I hated the melodrama. I pushed my feelings down as deep as I could.

"You know what? I need to get going," I said. "Just meet up with me after art."

The last thing I needed was to get all upset and then have to sit in class and stew in my emotional soup. I walked away as quickly as my legs could carry me. My daily sprint to school had afforded me greater stamina than I was used to.

After school, Henry followed me outside. It was much more awkward than our first walk, with neither of us speaking. That wasn't normal for us anymore; we always chatted like crazy when we were together, about anything and everything from our favorite bands to the imaginary hobbies of our teachers.

He didn't seem to be trying to get me to talk anymore, either. Gone was the pressing attempt at prying words from my lips. Finally, when we turned onto my street, he spoke.

"You're being distant again."

"So are you," I shot back. I hadn't realized that I'd been crossing my arms tightly over my chest until now.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked quietly after another moment of tense silence. "Is it because of what happened at the orphanage? That freaked me out a little, too..."

I looked at his face, unsure of what to say. His features were wrought with confusion, as though he had no idea why I would want to avoid him. I couldn't reconcile the Henry I knew now with one who would ever in a million years want someone like Lainey.

"No. It's not that," I said.

I bent down and picked up a dry, crimson leaf from the sidewalk, twirling it by the stem. I had to keep my eyes busy. He broke down all of my defenses when we made eye contact, and this time I refused to melt into a puddle of goo.

"If I did, I'll apologize a hundred times until you talk to me," he continued. "I'm sorry."

I opened and closed my mouth like a fish, unsure of what to say. The leaf was slowly crumbling in my fingers.

Henry walked around so that he blocked my path and I had to look at him. I tried to concentrate on the space between his eyebrows. Looking into his eyes still seemed too intense. He would know exactly how I felt about him if I did. I didn't even know that myself, yet.

"You didn't do anything to me," I said. I held my breath for a moment, my mouth tasting sour. "I just wish you would have told me that you were planning on asking Lainey out. So I would have been prepared that you two are dating." The words sounded all wrong, like I was attempting a foreign language.

His reaction surprised me. First, he stared at me like I'd grown another head. Then he burst out laughing, doubling over and clutching his ribs. He couldn't stop himself. I had no idea what he found so uproarious, and it triggered my irritation.

Was I really that much fun to laugh at?

When he could finally breathe again, he righted himself. The corners of his full mouth were turned up, his face flushed, like he'd been running around the block. Or having sex. I blushed and looked away, hating my involuntary thoughts. Why did he have to be so attractive?

"What are you talking about, weirdo?" he asked, still grinning. "Where did you hear that Lainey and I are dating? Is that why you've been avoiding me like the plague?"

"Well, considering you're a rat," I muttered.

"Seriously, why would you say that?" The smile fled his face, leaving him looking curious and slightly hurt.

"A bunch of people have been talking about it at school," I said defensively, holding onto my elbows with both hands for support. "It's common knowledge, so you can stop pretending."

"It's not common knowledge to _me_ ," he protested. He bowed his head, getting me to look straight into his eyes, the exact place I didn't want to be sucked into. I was hooked.

"I am not dating Lainey," he continued, speaking slowly. "I don't know if she passed that rumor on or what, but it's not happening. She is...vapid. And phony."

"And exactly who your parents want you to date," I finished.

"Screw what my parents think," he said defiantly, color rising on his cheeks. "This isn't the old world, I could care less who they want me to hook up with."

He stopped, appraising me for a moment.

"Why didn't you just ask me?" His eyes were filled with hurt, making him look so vulnerable.

"I don't know," I offered. "I guess I just expected it." My gaze shifted all over his face, unable to take him in properly. "It just seemed too good to be true that you would actually want to be..." I struggled to find a proper word. "My friend."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," he jeered. "I expected more from you."

I glared at him, the harsh afternoon sun getting in my vision and making me blink, ruining the effect. "Why are you expecting anything from me? And why should I know any different?"

"Because I told you how things were," he argued, irritation flaring up on his usually agreeable features. "I thought you would believe me."

"I did believe you," I said softly, feeling defeated. "I just...thought that my initial feelings were wrong."

I heard him scoff gently beneath his breath.

"I told her that we're just friends," he said emphatically, retrieving the remnant of the leaf still tucked between my fingers and spinning it with his own.

"Then what about all the touching? She's always all over you."

"I know," he said, laughter in his voice. "That's why I put a stop to it."

"You're always together in the halls, you sit with her in class...not that I'm paying attention," I added, laying out my evidence. But of course, I had been paying too close attention, even when I'd told myself I was ignoring him. I could feel the heat race up my cheeks to my forehead.

"Because Lainey always seems to be around," Henry said. He shrugged, and we started walking on our way again. Clouds had begun to cross the sky, gray and heavy as if they held rain. I wondered if we would make it this time.

"Our dads are old pals, so it's an unfortunate requirement," Henry continued. "And I never said she didn't have a crush on me, I'm assuming she does. That's why I made it clear that we're just friends."

"I see."

"Do you now, really? Or are you just saying that?"

"I do. But why don't you like her?" The question just made me blush more fiercely, adding in a bit of lightheadedness, but I had to ask it.

"She drives me crazy," he said seriously, pulling at his hair and pretending to tug it out. "Every conversation is about her clothes and her hair and blah blah blah, and the only input I'm allowed are my views on those things. I just do my part, smile and nod, and it keeps her off my back."

The octave of his voice jumped up to a terrible falsetto. "Oh, and did you know, her dad owns, like, five businesses? Because she never shuts up about it."

"Seven business," I corrected, giggling despite myself.

"All of them worthless," he said. "It's not like when I'm with you. I love talking to you."

The fact that he had used _love_ and _you_ in the same sentence floored me, but I didn't have a chance to react.

"What is up with this, by the way?" He stopped again and snagged an acrylic black and orange spider off of the nearest mailbox. He gestured to the lawn, which was covered in tombstones and glowing orange lights.

"It's like _A Nightmare Before Christmas_. I've never seen so many people decorate for Halloween. I get that it's not far away, but I've been seeing this crap since I moved here. That was in April."

He gestured to the huge blown up snowglobe on the lawn across the street, where a cutesy grim reaper and his scythe wiggled back and forth. I shrugged, retrieving the spider and plopping it back on the mailbox. The googly eyes rolled at me.

"That's just Hell. Everyone takes a lot of pride in whatever heritage they think we have. Adults are just big kids anyway, according to Hugh. I don't think anybody ever grows up, not really."

"I'm inclined to agree with you," Henry said. "My parents think they're still in high school."

CHAPTER 18

HUGH AND HENRY had begun to strike up an easy friendship. They joked a little when we went inside, Henry teasing my father for his decorations. He seemed like the type that just automatically made friends in any situation. It was a nice change from the interrogation—Hugh getting comfortable with having Henry around and trusting him.

It was undeniable that Henry had carved out a place in my life.

We took our seats in the den again, which had become our meeting place. It was hard to concentrate on the numbers and shapes in the book, but I forced myself to listen to the hypnotizing sound of his voice. I had to cram this stuff into my brain for the test on Friday.

After we worked, we talked about the Halloween dance. It was an unavoidable subject, considering how enthralled the school was with it. And Henry was the one who brought it up.

"So, the dance is almost here. You would think the president was coming to town, the way people are talking about its earth-shattering possibilities."

"Again, small town. We get excited over corn," I said. He snickered, shaking his head at me and grinning.

"Dances can be fun, though."

"Ugh, I hate them," I said, flopping back on the sofa and kicking my geometry book. "All that money spent for one lousy night. And all the girls competing over their looks while the boys get sweaty and start pawing them. No, thank you."

"I see." Henry said cryptically. He frowned suddenly, a crease appearing in his forehead. I sat up, realizing that he had probably brought it up for a reason. Had I completely screwed up my chance? I didn't know how to get back into the topic, though, as he started quizzing me again.

By the time the Lexus arrived, lighting up the den curtains, I felt prepared to at least not fail the kicker. We headed for the front door, ready to say our goodbyes.

"Don't forget your sweatshirt," I reminded him. He'd started putting it on the dining room chair whenever he came in. I turned and crossed the floor to the dining room, when I noticed the familiar, heavy bouquet of Claire's perfume. She hadn't met him yet, thanks to careful maneuvering on my part. I groaned internally, having known this day would come and yet not prepared.

"Is that your friend, Ariel?" Claire called from behind the kitchen cabinets. I had half a mind to push Henry out of the front door, but I didn't get a chance before she swooshed into view.

"Are you trying to sneak out on me?" Claire asked cheerfully, but I could hear the undertone in her voice that said _get over here_. She'd pestered me about meeting him all the time, and now she'd finally gotten her wish. "Hi, you must be Henry. I'm Claire."

She held out her hand for him to shake. Her blonde hair was swept into its usual work updo, and she wore a pinstripe suit, looking as though she had just gotten ready to leave instead of having worked for ten hours.

"Nice to meet you," he said warmly. I think she was disappointed he didn't say she looked like my sister.

"My daughter and husband have said nothing but great things about you," she said. "The improvement in her grades really has me impressed."

When Claire spoke to people who weren't her family, she went into charm mode. Her voice became strong and mega-cheerful, all of her attention directed at that one person.

"Well, Ariel did all the work herself," Henry said. "I've just been sitting there."

I felt the opposite about our study sessions, but I didn't want to correct him. Let her think I was good at something.

"I'm sure that's not true," she said, smiling coyly. Of course she wouldn't believe him. I could tell by the way she was looking at him that he had worked his charms on her, however, and not the other way around.

"It's completely true," he said. "Your daughter is a very smart, capable person. She just doesn't always believe it herself."

"Okay, enough about me," I muttered uncomfortably. I yanked his sweatshirt off of the chair and handed it to him. "Henry has to be going, Claire, his dad's in the driveway."

"You should stop by for dinner sometime," she pushed. She hadn't stopped smiling since she introduced herself. "We would love to have you, and since you're here every week anyway..."

"Sure," Henry said, nodding.

This time I did push him towards the door as they bid each other goodbye.

"She's not as scary as you made her out to be," he whispered quietly to me on the porch. The rain had let up, leaving nothing but muddy puddles in the grass. The Lexus sat silently, headlights glowing. I still couldn't make out Henry's mysterious father inside.

"That was just her company face," I insisted. "She has a whole 'nother side, believe me. One that breathes fire."

"I'm glad you're talking to me again," he said, and touched my nose with his finger. I felt the warmth from his skin spread through me. "I missed our talks."

"Me too. I just hope you stay on my side."

"Don't worry. They won't lure me away." And he waved to me as I watched him leave.

###

I dreamed of the orphanage for the first time since the seance. Fog rolled in, thick enough to split as it reached through the gate's bars. I could hear voices whispering from the building beyond, but I couldn't make out anything they were saying. Candles flickered in the top windows, casting dancing shadows. I heard children singing a off-key song that I couldn't identify.

And then I was feeding the floor again, raw meat in both hands, blood dripping through my fingers. The stench was overpowering as I smeared the meat into the ground. So much blood, yet not enough. I still needed more.

When I woke up, my blanket was clenched in my teeth. I saw red before my eyes cleared.

###

On Friday, after everyone had handed in their tests, Vanderlip fed the scantrons into the machine to get the results right there. And from all of the groaning and cussing that flared up around me, the results weren't good.

"Showing improvement," Vanderlip said begrudgingly as he handed my test back to me. I was shocked. B+ was scrawled in red at the top with a circle around it. I felt a rush of pride I'd heretofore never imagined of math.

I found Henry by his locker after class and held my paper up like an excited child, grinning broadly.

"Good job!" He held his arms out for a hug, and I practically jumped into them, relief and pride making me giddy. I felt the breath of his laughter on my neck. "I don't know why you're surprised. I knew you could do it."

We pulled back from each other, and suddenly he kissed me. Softly, just a touch of the lips, but it happened, stirring the breath from my chest. My tingling mouth formed an o in shock.

He slammed his locker shut with his outstretched hand, and handed me back the paper he'd been gripping the whole time. "I knew you could do it," he repeated.

"You kissed me," I said, flustered. My brain scrambled to make sense.

"You looked so happy. I couldn't help it." He seemed to be blushing himself, a rare shyness overtaking him.

"Th-thanks for helping me," I stuttered, still not totally believing the kiss had actually occurred.

"Do you want to go to the dance with me?" he blurted out of nowhere. "I know you hate the things, but I think we could have a good time together. I've been meaning to ask you, I just—"

"Yes."

"I was...wait, yes?" he repeated.

"Heck yeah. I'd love to go with you." I could barely resisting the urge to bounce up and down.

The bell rang, making me curse it for the umpteenth time. "Text me," he said, and rushed off to class, his huge smile firmly in place.

###

Warwick came over for dinner for the first time since he'd officially become my teacher.

"I promise not to discuss anything school-related," he assured me as he was taking off his coat. "It's not like your grades are that bad."

"He's kidding," I said nervously to Hugh and Claire. "You've seen my test scores, parents."

"Where'd your sense of humor go, Ariel?" Warwick asked lightly, punching me gently on the arm. "Lighten up."

Dinner was like old times as we ate a chicken casserole Claire had whipped together. My parents and Warwick had an animated conversation, and as usual I just listened, since I was considered the child in the room. I was surprised they no longer made me sit at a kiddie table.

I didn't want to say anything about Henry asking me to the Halloween dance. Even though I was over-the-moon excited, I knew Claire would find a way to make it all about her and her choices of dresses and hairstyles.

They settled after dinner to watch a movie on the big screen. I dismissed myself downstairs, wanting to finish up my homework and having already had an earful of boring work stories for the evening.

"Are you sure you don't want to watch?" Warwick pestered me, his eyes twinkling. "It's a real bloodbath. Lots of dead bodies. I know you enjoy that kind of thing."

"Usually, sure. I just have some work to catch up on."

"Suit yourself," Claire said shortly as she brought out a bowl of mixed nuts and several cans of beer and set them on the coffee table. I knew she'd be covering her eyes or browsing on her phone throughout most of the film, so I didn't know why she cared.

As I reached the bottom of the basement stairs, I heard a familiar thud. I stopped, grabbing hard onto the wooden banister. It had to be my imagination. Going to the orphanage, having the seance, had stopped the strange sounds.

THUD.

Or so I thought.

I hopped off the steps, tore around the corner, and whipped open my bedroom door. The room was pitch black. I flicked on the light, which flickered briefly, and stepped inside. My eyes fixed on the wall above the desk, I listened.

The door clicked shut behind me and I whirled around.

THUD.

The overhead lamp flickered again, and then the light disappeared. I was left in total darkness.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

Fear pulsed through my veins with the beating of my heart. I wasn't alone in the room. Something was trapped in there with me.

The dark was deeper than just a lack of light; the inky, thick air wasn't natural. As I tried to make my way across the void to the door, a force pushed back at me.

I waved my hands out uselessly in front of me as I struggled to reach the exit.

"Whatever you are, leave me alone," I whispered in a choked voice. Terror made me lightheaded and I felt as though I might pass out.

THUD. THUD.

They had to hear it upstairs, even with the movie going. The adults knew I was here. They would find me. I felt suddenly isolated from the rest of the house, from the rest of the world, in the unrelenting blackness.

I turned back, and for the shortest of seconds, Jenna's face flashed before me. The image disappeared before I could even process it.

The light came back on, bright and harsh. I rushed to the door and grasped the metal knob, yanking it open without a second thought.

The adults were engrossed in the movie upstairs, even Claire, whose cellphone lay dormant. She was snuggled up to Hugh, her head on his shoulder. Warwick munched loudly on a handful of nuts, tossing them into his mouth. No one noticed me rush into the room.

"There is something downstairs," I said breathlessly, chest heaving. A painful stitch was developing in between my ribs.

"What?" Hugh asked, his head snapping in my direction.

"The light went out. It was just gone. And something was there, banging the wall," I reported.

Hugh and Claire exchanged a glance. They looked more like they were worried about my mental health than things going bump in the night.

"Just wait here, hon," Hugh said to Claire as he stood up. "Pause the movie and I'll be right back."

"Okay, sweetie," Warwick said sarcastically, but no one laughed.

Hugh followed me to my room. I stopped, allowing him to go in front of me as we crept down the hall. At the last minute, I reached out and gripped his arm above the elbow, just in case.

"You said there was something hitting the wall?" Hugh asked.

"Yeah. Didn't you hear it upstairs? It was loud."

"No, I didn't hear anything, but I was paying attention to the movie, too."

We had arrived at my bedroom door, which was tightly shut, covered in the remains of old stickers.

"I didn't shut that door," I said. I distinctly remembered leaving it open in my urge to flee.

He turned the doorknob slowly, and pushed the door open. Inside, the overhead light glowed steadily, making the room look cheerful. But the air still had a strange thickness, deathly quiet even as Hugh began investigating.

"There's nothing here now," he said, stating the obvious.

"I'm telling you, I heard something," I insisted. "And the light just went out."

"Maybe it was a power surge," Hugh offered. He flicked the switch up and down. "The light seems to be working now."

"It's not the first time I've heard the noise, either," I continued, undaunted. My confession made him look even more worried, his scowl deepening.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I've heard it a couple of times before. It's like someone's banging on that wall." I thrust my finger accusingly in the direction of my desk.

Hugh rapped on the wall, listening for any echo or response. When he heard nothing, he pulled back and regarded me as I stood clasping my elbows again. I could imagine how he saw me: as a child, scared by imaginary monsters. I felt foolish and embarrassed that I'd been so scared.

"It's possible a critter might have burrowed inside, trying to escape the cold," Hugh suggested. "Maybe nibbled on the wiring, got into the insulation. We'll have it inspected."

He was trying to reassure me, but I wasn't buying it. Whatever was haunting me was back, but I was the only one who could hear it.

###

I slept on the couch for the rest of the week. I couldn't bring myself to be alone in the dark, two flights down from where my parents slept. So much for not being a baby.

It wasn't just that I was scared. I was confused, not able to wrap my head around what was happening. I had thought that the seance settled things, that the ghosts or whatever it was had gone back to ink and film. But that didn't seem to be the case.

Later that week, I was working on a project in Claire's office. It was a research paper for my English class. I had chosen the later life and mysterious death of Edgar Allen Poe, but the facts I found conflicted. And I kind of got the feeling old Poe was a bit of a perv.

I printed out reams of paper I'd pasted into a word processor, hoping I could highlight the good stuff and form a coherent report. I hadn't gotten much sleep in the past few days, and I had trouble writing a sentence.

A hideous choking sound emanated from the printer as it jammed. I sighed and started pulling the chewed paper out of the tray. Attempting to chuck it in the recycling bin, I frowned when I saw it was overflowing. There was a bunch of freshly shredded paper inside, along with one familiar-looking manilla folder that had been torn to bits. I knelt and dug around in the scraps.

Sure enough, it was my grandmother's medical file. Or what remained of it. Most of it was destroyed beyond recognition. Still, I sifted through the thin ribbons of paper. On one slip, I could make out two words— _Bernhardt Medical_.

Tossing my printer mess on top of the recycling bin, I picked up the spilled bits of shredded paper. I didn't want Claire to know I'd discovered the file; she obviously didn't ever want me to see it.

I sat back down at the computer, Poe forgotten, and typed _Bernhardt Medical_ into the search engine. Several results popped up, but I was most interested in the third one.

_Bernhardt Sanitarium, Ann Arbor, MI. News today confirmed that the state-owned building has been privately acquired..._ I clicked on the link for the full article and skimmed.

Bernhardt had been an insane asylum, built in the early 1920s and active for sixty years. But then the asylum was closed, and for years it had been an outpatient care place. I shivered, the very sight of the gigantic, dilapidated brick hospital stirring images of torturous therapies.

So Eleanor was crazy? Was that what Claire had tried to hide? I thought of her shaky hand spilling iced tea.

And if Eleanor was crazy, did that mean I was, too?

I didn't want to hear sounds anymore. Or see things I couldn't explain. I was done chasing ghosts, before I lost whatever was left of my grip on reality.

I couldn't stand imagining the uneasy look my parents had given me on the faces of everyone I knew. The sympathetic stare that said, _she's crazy, handle with care_.

CHAPTER 19

"WHY WON'T YOU tell me who your date is?" I asked Theo, kicking a rock down the sidewalk. "You tell me everything. Why did I need to know that you gnawed the head of your baby doll when you were six, but you can't tell me something simple like this. Is he really that embarrassing?"

"I don't know," Theo said into the collar of her coat. "Depends on your perspective."

"Does he have hair in his ears?" I pried, trying to cheer her out of her apparent funk. "Really bad acne? I promise I won't judge old pizza face."

It was the Thursday before the dance, and we were walking into town to go dress shopping. I'd finally broken down and told my mother I'd been asked to the dance, and just as I had expected, she had nearly blown a gasket.

Thankfully, she couldn't get the afternoon off, so we were on our own. I could only imagine the ribbon-festooned monstrosity she would have unleashed upon me.

Theo stared straight ahead, her jaw set, small face resolute. "You'll see him on Saturday," she said. "Why is it an issue?"

"That's precisely my question, why is it an issue?"

She grimaced and remained silent. "Can we talk about something else?"

The temperature had dipped down much colder, and I could smell winter creeping up on us. I was glad for the deep pockets of my coat as I jammed my frigid hands into them.

A cheery bell dinged as we entered the dress shop. The warmth inside was a relief. In the front window plastic skeletons posed as mannequins were decked out in red formal-wear. Whether this was commentary on the fashion industry or just the usual Halloween Town fun, I didn't know.

Racks of bridal gowns and bridesmaid's dresses hung in a rainbow of colors, along with different styles of formal dresses. The strong smell of eucalyptus was everywhere, the branches jammed into tall white vases around the room.

"Where do we start?" Theo asked, dismayed. Her brow puckered as she cracked her knuckles. I surveyed the dizzying array of choices. For once, I wished I knew as much about fashion as Claire.

Smelling fresh meat, the eager saleslady descended on us. Her unnaturally tinted hair was piled tightly on her head, face framed by two huge, geometrical gold earrings that looked uncomfortably heavy.

"Hello, ladies," she purred. "Looking for dresses for the Halloween dance?"

"How did you guess?" Theo asked suspiciously, taken aback not just by her words but by the spooky expression on the woman's heavily made-up face.

"My daughter goes to Hawthorne, too," the woman beamed. "Shawna Jameson. I'm sure you know her. Honor roll, co-chair of the decorating committee."

"Oh, yeah, sure," I said, nodding. I had never heard of the girl, but I wanted to be polite. And not piss off the creepy lady by admitting her daughter may not be as popular as she thought she was.

Charleen, according to her name tag, guided us over to a rack of dresses in darker tones of mauve and olive. She held her thick arms out, the skin above her elbows flapping, and gestured towards the ugly dresses as if showing off a new car.

"These are brand new for the winter season," she said. One leopard print, claw-like fingernail trailed along the shiny, intimidating fabrics.

"I think I have an absolutely perfect piece in petite." She pulled out a pumpkin colored two piece with a flourish and held it up to Theo. It was at least two sizes too big.

"Oh, wow," Theo said, the side of her face twitching. I was worried she was having a stroke. "That sure is a dress."

"Do you maybe have something more...traditional?" I asked in the politest way I could muster.

"Sure!" Charleen crowed, and jammed the pumpkin dress back in with its companions. "Follow me, ladies!"

She led us to a rack of dresses that looked like refuges from my mother's prom, all poufy sleeves and garish, neon colors. Theo was biting her lip raw, trying not to laugh. I felt the same way, especially since there were multiple butt bows.

"I don't know if these are exactly what we had in mind, either," I said delicately, fiddling with the price tag on a purple dress with blue sleeves. A snicker escaped Theo's lips, and she hid it poorly by pretending to cough.

"You know what, let me take a look in the back," Charleen said, not one to be discouraged. She disappeared behind a set of thick green curtains.

"This is some overpriced polyester," I said, balking at several of the exorbitant price tags.

"Yeah, we need cheap polyester. The way it's meant to be," Theo said. "Everything in here is so ugly. Let's scoot before she locks the door and makes us play dress-up."

We were on the sidewalk in seconds, the bell dinging behind us.

"What now?" Theo asked breathlessly as we were chugging away on the pavement.

"It would help if I knew what I was looking for," I admitted. "I don't even know what I want to wear."

"Me either."

"We could try the thrift store. Not glamorous, but they might have some interesting things. If you dig hard enough you can usually find some kind of treasure." My breath was coming out in little puffs. Theo agreed without any deliberation.

It was a short walk down to the thrift store. I hadn't been there in a long time. Housed in a large building that used to be a warehouse, it was crammed with ceramics, dishes, toys, and clothes. And everything smelled the same, like a Walmart.

As usual, the store was full of shoppers picking through the secondhand goods. Theo followed me over to the section of discarded dresses and costumes.

"We just have to watch out for anything Madison or Lainey have donated," Theo said wearily. "The last thing we need is to show up in one of their cast-offs, so let me know if anything looks familiar."

"Lainey's family doesn't believe in charity," I informed her.

"Who doesn't believe in charity?" Theo said, frowning. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. She did a whole speech about it last year, about how charity makes poor people lazy. And every year Lainey and Madison wear hot pink, so steer clear of that. If they could trademark the color, they would."

"Such winners," Theo said and rolled her eyes. "Then why would they be part of that Thornhill thingie?"

I'd never thought about it before. "Beats me. Because it's the in thing to do, I guess. Looks like they were clearing out the theater department," I observed. A decent amount of costumes hung on rows of hangers. We worked our way down the lines, shifting the hangers and pawing through the offerings: a plaid shirt and fringed pants complete with a cowboy hat, a Native American dress, what looked like a spacesuit. And plenty of tattered remains from children's costumes.

"Not seeing anything yet," Theo reported. We moved on to the racks of formal clothes, although most of them looked like something a ballroom dancing grandma would wear, mixed in with fluffy white bridal gowns.

"I like this..." Theo tugged out a draped dress covered in delicate blue and green beads and sequins.

"That's beautiful, Theo, but it's huge," I said, feeling the shiny fabric and looking it over.

"Mom has a sewing machine," she said hopefully. "I've made a few skirts and tops before; this wouldn't be too difficult to turn into something wearable."

She hugged the dress around the waist so that the top flopped over, her face glowing. I had to remind myself that this was her first dance, and that she definitely had impressive sewing abilities.

I began to get discouraged when, after half an hour, I hadn't found anything. From the looks of it, half of Hell had cleaned out their old junk like Hugh had.

I knew I was being picky, since there were some pretty items. But since Henry was going to be my date, I had to look my best, and not like the tomboy I usually did.

I was about to give up and go home begging to Claire, when I saw a swatch of shimmery, silver-white fabric mashed in between the rest. Pulling the other dresses aside, I freed an elegant, silvery dress with a halter top.

The cascading fabric looked magical, twinkling in the dull light. It appeared to be handmade, with no tags. I realized at that moment that it was exactly what I wanted.

"Wow, that's so pretty," Theo said. "It looks just your size, too. Lucky. Try it on."

I took the dress into the cramped fitting room and shut the curtain. Sliding the dress over my head, I let it fall. The fabric fit perfectly from what I could see in the mirror, curving gently around my hips, even giving me the illusion of something in the chest.

"Let me see!" Theo called from outside.

As soon as she saw me, Theo's face lit up.

"You look awesome," she gushed. "It's a great contrast with your hair. You have to buy it, or I'll buy it for you."

"I don't know about the back, though," I said, turning around and putting my long black hair over my shoulder. Yes, this dress was coming home with me, but alterations might be required. There was a deep v plunge that stopped midway down, leaving my whole back exposed.

"Well, you can make it like a costume. So, how about wings?" Theo suggested. "I'm sure we could find a cheap pair at one of those Halloween party stores."

That settled it, and we took our finds to the check out counter. As we paid for our purchases, flush with excitement, I knew Saturday was going to be a very interesting night.

###

On the night of the dance, Theo and I were waiting on my couch in our dresses. I had just been through two hours of brutal makeup application and hair styling. My face now resembled that of a toddler beauty pageant contestant, especially the patches of blush on my pale cheeks.

And now I couldn't stop twiddling my thumbs. I shifted, the feathery white angel wings cutting into my back, feathers cascading around me.

Theo had performed major reconstructive surgery on her dress in just two days, lopping off the length and turning the excess into a long train sewn on the back like a mermaid tail. The result was stunning. She'd also found an unusual mix of chunky blue and green glitter from the craft store that framed her eyes and decorated her cheeks.

"I really don't want to wear my glasses," she complained, taking them off and squinting at the TV. "But I'm completely blind without them."

"They look fine. You're really pretty, and they're part of what makes you Theo, anyway."

"Wells, shucks. Thanks. But I feel kind of skanky," she admitted, yanking up the slouchy front of her dress. "I don't usually wear clothes with my bits exposed."

Claire came out of her office, where she'd been clearing old pictures off of her camera. She held the camera up with both hands, her face gleeful. But it fell into a scowl when she saw us.

"Why are you two sitting?" she squealed. "You'll wrinkle your dresses!"

Theo and I glanced at each other, both releasing sighs at the same time. I stood, careful to make sure my cumbersome wings weren't snagging on anything. Claire started snapping photos, barely giving us a chance to pose. I imagined Theo and I were both grimacing in all of them.

Claire had offered to drive us about twenty times, but apparently Theo's date was older and had a car. This mystery man was really piquing my interest.

"You're going to run out of space before the guys even get here," I observed dryly. "I'm sure you want some couples shots."

She lowered the camera and frowned at it, as if it had been acting of its own volition, snapping away wastefully. The doorbell rang, and I hustled over to beat my mother there.

Henry stood on the porch, the lamp making a halo glow on top of his dark hair, which as usual was falling however it wanted to. My heart skipped a beat. He was dressed in a knight's costume, made of white and gold fabric. The costume was both a little goofy and attractive. Much like the person wearing it.

His eyes lit up upon seeing me, and the resulting smile was soft and private. "Wow," he breathed, his eyes sweeping up my body.

"Hi," I said shyly, tugging at one side of the halter top. I felt the wings wiggle on my back.

"You look amazing." The way he held himself now, hands pressed to his sides, suggested he was containing the urge to reach out and touch me.

"Move outta the way, bro, I gotta see my date," a familiar voice bleated behind him. Alex slapped Henry on the back and strode inside like he owned the place. Henry winced.

I turned to Theo, my eyes wide as I shook my head in horror. _Are you kidding me?_ I mouthed. Way worse than pizza face.

She shrugged, her face contorted uncomfortably into a grimace. Alex's tuxedo was the color of grape juice. We had lucked out in that he had not included a pimp hat or cane. He was his own costume.

"You all look fantastic," Claire beamed. She positioned the four of us by the closed doors to the den and made us pose for pictures. Alex pretended he was shooting finger guns in half of them. Finally, after what seemed like a full camera of shots, I whisked our little group outside and down the walk.

"We're going to be late," I reasoned as we escaped.

"Have fun!" she called, waving from inside. If she could have, she would've hopped into the car with us.

Inside Alex's Jeep, we all seemed like awkward kids. None of us looked at each other. Instead, we found endlessly fascinating sights out of the windows. No one brought up our last misadventure.

I was sitting in the back seat next to Henry, the inches of space between us electrified. I wanted to slide closer to him, but I was too shy, even though I sensed he felt the same way. I didn't know how to make the first move.

Alex managed to stay on the road most of the time, and had turned off the heavy metal that normally blasted from his cheap subwoofers. I still couldn't believe that Theo would want to go with him. I could see now why she didn't want to tell me. I wondered who asked who, as my eyes darted back and forth between the backs of their heads.

I glanced out of my wedge of window as we hit a red light. A little girl stood by herself on the sidewalk. I squinted. Even in the dark, I could make out her blue raincoat. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. I had never seen someone look so utterly abandoned.

The Jeep whizzed by as Alex pounded the gas pedal. I craned my neck back.

"Did anyone see that little girl?" I asked.

"What little girl?" Henry asked beside me.

"I guess that's a no," Alex said gruffly.

I looked out the back window, but I couldn't see her anymore. I was positive it was the same girl I'd seen while bike riding with Theo. Maybe her parents had been nearby, after all, and I hadn't noticed them. I brushed the thoughts away, trying to focus on the night ahead.

CHAPTER 20

ALTHOUGH THERE WEREN'T many decorations on the outside of Hawthorne when we arrived, the school looked different. More mysterious, the majestic frame standing resolutely against the night.

The parking lot was jam packed with cars. A few people were out having tailgate parties. Henry opened my door, and Alex scrambled to do the same for Theo. Henry held his arm out for me, ignoring his friend.

"My lady." He grinned his cheesy grin at me.

I smirked and took his arm, noting the solidness beneath the costume sleeve. Even the garish fountain looked better in the nighttime. A spotlight was thrown on it, making the water glow blue. A touch of magic had infused the air.

Inside, a purple roll of fabric was duct taped to the floor, leading to the gym. In the entrance hall, hundreds of paper bats were suspended from the ceiling. Alex shrieked, swiping the bats away as they brushed his wavy hair.

"What have I gotten myself into?" I heard Theo mutter as we continued towards the gym. I felt a deep stab of sympathy for her, since she'd wanted to go to the dance so badly. Maybe Alex was what she had settled for, and she did not have to do that.

Theo was pulling at the fingerless blue lace gloves on her hands, when Alex reached out and took one of them. The two of them together made the strangest combination, especially considering he was almost a foot taller than she.

"The dance committee went all out," Henry declare, grinning sideways at me.

He was so handsome I couldn't help but smile, remembering how I could barely grin when we first met. It was hard to believe that I was actually there, on a bonafide date with my crush. It seemed like some absurd fantasy that had amazingly come true.

Volunteers were offering face and body painting out in the hall, and one girl had a dozen pink roses across her back. The paint was slowly starting to melt and ooze towards her dress in the warmth from the gym.

Inside the dark gym, everyone was so dressed up they were almost unrecognizable. The regular lights were turned down, and a mass of twinkle lights had been strung up on the walls. Most people were wearing dresses and tuxedos with masks, horns or tails, but a few people had full-on costumes.

The teachers especially had gotten into the festive mood. Mr. Vanderlip was dressed as a pilgrim, complete with buckled hat, and his dour appearance made me giggle. Henry put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed, and a warm rush of pleasure filled me.

Madison and Lainey were parked by the refreshments table. Both wore low cut dresses, though surprisingly not in pink. Lainey had devil horns, to complement a two piece red dress that looked like it could have been from the shop Theo and I had escaped from. A good four inches of her tanned stomach were on display, and I felt briefly jealous that I didn't look anything like that.

At least Madison had used some creativity. Her short dress was made out of fluffy white fabric, and she was wearing lamb ears and white tights. If I didn't know what an awful person she was, I would have said she looked cute.

Lainey's date was Ambrose Slaughter, who swayed and looked a bit tipsy as he took a swig from a presumably tainted glass of punch. He hadn't bothered tying his bowtie; it hung down on either side of his neck. Lainey didn't seem too thrilled. She and Madison were arguing, Lainey moving animatedly and waving her hands.

"You look ridiculous," she yelled, her voice carrying over the persistent thrum of the music.

"I told you this was my costume idea," Madison protested. "If you didn't like it, why didn't you say so?"

"I don't remember anything about you dressing like a cotton ball," Lainey huffed.

"Maybe if you _listened_ to me once in a while," Madison squeaked.

I looked away from the car wreck in the making, just glad the three of them weren't aware of Henry and me.

Mr. Warwick sidled up to our group, a grin plastered on his face. He had put wax in his mustache so it was bristly like a toothbrush. A bulky trench coat draped over his lanky frame, the collar flipped up around his neck like Dracula.

"Hey, Wick," Alex greeted him. "What are you supposed to be?"

"I'm a turncoat," Warwick said, showing the yellow lining of the coat, which looked completely different from the other side. Alex just scowled in confusion.

"Is that one of those dudes that stands around selling counterfeit watches?" he asked.

Warwick looked at him with his head cocked to one side, blinking slowly. "Have fun, you guys," he said, and went off to talk to a science teacher dressed up as DNA.

A woman next to us was addressing a teacher dressed as a box of french fries. "Excuse me. Have you seen Mr. McPherson? I can't seem to find him anywhere."

The french fry box shook her head. It gave me pause for a second, but I brushed it off. Tonight was not the night for conspiracy theories. Henry's arm was still around me, the proximity of his body warming my own.

"All right, let's boogie," Alex said, grasping Theo's hand. He pulled her off onto the dance floor, and they both began to make awkward robot moves to the pop song currently playing.

"I hope she'll be all right with him," I said to Henry over the music.

"She'll be fine," Henry assured me, lips close to my ear. "He's not that bad of a guy once you get to know him. He's not that great, either, but he's not the slimeball he appears to be at first glance."

I opened my mouth to protest his declaration, but he silenced my argument by taking my hand and leading me to an empty spot on the floor. As we started dancing, I felt a bit awkward at first. I'd never felt very sure when dancing, and I didn't exactly have natural rhythm.

But I got caught up easily in the spirit of everyone having such a good time. The strobe lights flickered to the bass beat, making the room seem otherworldly. Knowing I was semi-hidden in the darkness, I didn't feel so intimidated.

Alex passed by with Theo, spinning her around. They tangoed off, her cheek to his chest. Her face was bright red and happier than I'd ever seen her. All of my earlier worries went instantly to rest, my idea of a talking-to seeming self-righteous now.

Henry and I danced close, not letting go of our clasped hands. Laughter bounced from him to me and back again as we pressed our foreheads together, and gazed into each other's eyes. The laughter dissolved as we pulled away. He spun me around and then drew me close, dipping my torso backwards. My head spun pleasantly as I saw the world upside down.

Song after song passed, most of them upbeat, though some of them were slow and romantic. When one slower, swoony song started up, Henry put his arms around my waist, and we swayed back and forth to the music. He didn't step on my toes once.

The night stretched on endlessly. My legs were getting tired with the rest of me. I could feel sweat rolling down my back beneath my crooked wings, but I didn't care. I felt free. I couldn't get enough of Henry so close to me, and I didn't take my eyes off of his gorgeous face now that I had an excuse to take my fill.

Finally, the dance started to wind down. The floor began clearing off as people left for home, after parties, or just sat down. The third slow song in a row started up. I looked around at the scattering of couples that remained as they started to sway slowly like zombies.

Henry grasped both of my arms by my wrists and pulled them up around his neck, never breaking eye contact. He slipped his hands down and slid them gently around my waist, bringing me closer so that I was pressing against him.

I gulped. The friendly, flirty mood between us had taken on a different tone entirely. His face was much more intense, his eyes hungry. He smelled so good and felt so warm and fit so well against me that my head swam. I couldn't get close enough. I wanted him everywhere.

Henry nuzzled my neck softly and I felt the bite of the stubble on his chin. He began kissing my shoulder gently, sending little electrical shocks throughout my body.

Pulling away from me, his face was mere inches from mine again. So many times I had thought about this moment. Then our lips were together, hesitant at first but then firmly matched. It wasn't like the chaste peck he'd given me after I'd showed him my math grade.

This was different, deeper. His mouth tasted sweet, mixing with the salt on his lips. My hands snaked up his neck and I pulled him as close as I could.

One half of the gym lights flickered on full strength, blinding me through my closed lids. Henry and I broke apart and peered up at the ceiling. For a moment, I assumed in annoyance that it was just another lighting issue. Why now? Why here? Always at exactly the wrong time. The music shut off abruptly, the silence loud in my ears.

I was prepared to shrug any distraction off, nearly frantic to kiss Henry again. Now that I'd had a little bit of him, it wasn't enough. I had to have more, before the need drove me crazy. I was already panting and barely holding on to my self control. From the looks of things, he was in a similar state, which only increased my arousal.

Then a woman's hysterical voice rose above the din. Our attention was drawn to the other side of the gymnasium.

"Don't tell me to calm down!" the woman shrieked. There was something familiar, though not too much so, about her epically pissed off voice. "I am not calming down! My daughter is missing!"

As my eyes adjusted, I saw the woman was one of the chaperones. I could make out the rectangle of her identification badge. With a chill, I realized she had been the one asking about McPherson.

"I'm not going to calm down!" the woman repeated again. "There was blood on the floor of the ladies' room!"

There were gasps from the dancers around us and those seated nearby. Fright rippled through the crowd and the floor was swiftly deserted.

"I guess the dance is over," Alex said, sidling up to Henry and me with his arm around Theo. She didn't seem to mind a bit now, leaning her head against him. Glitter sparkled on the front of Alex's purple tux.

Although some people were hightailing it for the exits to get out of the gym and away from the brewing drama, our group went over to the scared mother. I watched as a single purple balloon deflated and fell gracefully to the table.

"What's going on?" I asked first. The mother turned to me, her face blotchy with conflicting emotions—anger, frustration, and most of all, pure animal fear.

"Thank god, someone who will listen," she said, not seeming to notice or care that we were just teens. She launched quickly into an explanation. "I brought my daughter, Susan, with me. She's ten years old. She was right beside me the whole time. She's a good listener, she doesn't go off on her own.

"Then suddenly, she was gone. I couldn't find her. When I looked in the girl's bathroom, there was blood all over the floor. And _they_ won't call the police!"

She jabbed her thumb accusingly at the group of frightened-looking teachers next to her, all wearing identical wide-eyed expressions like deer in a very big headlight. Their costumes made them look ridiculous now, with something so real and serious going on.

McPherson suddenly emerged like a cartoon villain from the open gym doors. He was dressed in an all-black suit, and even the shiny shirt beneath was charcoal. "What's going on here?" he asked. Just looking at him filled me with dread.

The woman impatiently explained what had happened to her daughter. McPherson tried to calm her down, his face devoid of any emotion. "There's a protocol we have to follow," McPherson began, but Henry cut him off.

"Who cares about protocol? Let's go look for her," he said decisively. "I'm sure she's got to be in the school somewhere. We're not going to find her daughter standing around here feeling helpless."

The teachers still looked unconvinced, but some of the other adults and kids around murmured in agreement. McPherson looked ticked off that Henry had spoken up, but agreed it was a good idea. I wondered again what he had to do with it.

Everyone began to split up into groups to search the school. The four of us, with a few other people in tow, headed off down past the main hall. The missing girl's mother was leading us; she told us her name was Lynn.

She brought us to the girl's bathroom near the science hall. My eyes were drawn to the tile. There was a single, smeared red shoe print just outside the door.

"I took her to the bathroom here earlier. So, when she went missing, this was the first place I checked." She pushed the door open.

Theo and I peered inside. Blood was smeared all over the tile floor, like someone had wiped it around with their hands. It was fresh, and only just beginning to dry, the metallic smell overpowering. Theo put her hand to her mouth like she might throw up.

"This is bad," I whispered to Theo. Her face was very pale, and she nodded silently.

"See what I mean?" Lynn said. "You see." She was on the verge of breaking down, and it was only a matter of time before all of her wildest fears consumed her.

"I think you should definitely call the police," Henry told her, his deep voice hushed so only our group could hear. "Don't worry about what the teachers or McPherson are saying. If there's anyone here with you, find them. You need someone to lean on."

The woman nodded and walked off with renewed determination, cell phone in her shaking hand. I was impressed by Henry's levelheaded tone. The rest of us, without a word, continued down the hall to keep looking. No one wanted to disturb a possible murder scene.

"Susan!" we called, her name echoing off the walls, almost as if in answer to us. In the night the school looked creepy and deserted, and I felt like we shouldn't be there.

We stuck together as a group, whipping open doors and calling into classrooms. Alex opened up a closet and a bunch of dirty mops collapsed on him. He yelped, jumping backwards as the mops narrowly avoided his shoes.

The halls all started to look the same, and I wondered if we were making any progress at all. I had heard police sirens several minutes before, and assumed they were near the entrance.

After a few more minutes of fruitless searching, we took a break. Alex leaned against the wall. He looked pale against the purple of his suit. Theo was equally quiet and pallid, staring at the floor. She'd taken her gloves off and was crumpling them in her hands.

"What's taking the cops so long?" Alex asked no one in particular, taking off his shoe and rubbing his foot. Henry started popping quarters into a nearby vending machine to get drinks. He handed each of us a Coke and I thanked him. I held the cold can against my forehead. The dance itself seemed like a distant, fragile memory.

Ariel...

Someone was calling my name again. Putting the pop down on a nearby drinking fountain, I left the others where they were standing and discussing the police's arrival, and turned the corner. A sharp pain stabbed my temple, as if something was forcing its way through. Energy danced its familiar pattern on the surface of my skin.

The little girl in the blue raincoat was standing in front of me, about two yards away. I could feel reality trying to peel back like the skin of an onion. My mind started to float away from my body, but in my dissociation I clung to consciousness as hard as I could.

She turned and glided silently away. I remembered where I'd seen her—she was the little girl that went missing a month ago. The knowledge that her name was Alyssa entered my mind, and I pictured Claire watching the news the night we had gone out to dinner.

I could faintly see the hallway through Alyssa's raincoat. The lights dimmed and flickered, everything taking on a bluish hue like we were underwater. I could vaguely see cut marks scoring her small arms.

I knew she was dead. But for some reason, I wasn't frightened anymore. Tranquility settled over me, a calm in knowing that what was happening was real.

I walked towards her slowly.

"Alyssa?" I called. She turned around. Her eyes were completely black, like those of an insect. I shuddered and shut my eyes as an image was forced into my mind— _Alyssa standing at the bus stop, waiting, when hands attached to nothing snatched her. She was too startled to scream as she was thrown in the back of a beaten up van. The van sped off through the driving rain._

"Your parents have been looking for you," I said. She stared through me. I couldn't really tell if she knew I was there or not—it was as if we were in two different but very close parallel worlds.

"What happened to you?" I asked. "Why am I seeing you?"

As if in answer, Alyssa's small hands went to the hood of her coat. The little red slices on her forearms stood out plainly. She pulled the hood down and I stifled the automatic gag that clenched my throat. Her neck was cleanly sliced from side to side. There was no blood, but that didn't make it any less grotesque.

"Are you the one that's been messing with the lights?" I asked, the connection occurring to me as I spoke it aloud.

In answer, Alyssa's black eyes slowly tracked up to the ceiling. The blue lights around us flickered off and on rapidly. After a few seconds of blinking, they remained lit. She looked back at me pointedly.

"But why?" I asked.

Suddenly, she was gone. The blue of the walls melted into the regular cream color that I saw every day, the lights returning to their normal, dull hue.

"Ariel, what are you doing?" Theo called.

I turned around and saw my three friends waiting, watching me with hesitation.

"Nothing," I called. "I'm coming back."

Glancing around to make sure Alyssa was truly gone, I jogged back to them. Apparently, the police were taking statements. I didn't say a word to my friends about seeing Alyssa. I didn't have any urge to; it was my own personal gift.

We walked to the front of the building, where two officers in uniform were questioning the now-sobbing Lynn. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, and she was having tremendous difficulty speaking. A female friend had her arm around Lynn, murmuring soothing words into her ear.

When I was a little girl, burglars broke into the house across the street. The police came to the neighborhood and talked to Hugh about it, asking him if he had seen anything. Jenna and I stood behind him the whole time, so excited that a real life drama was taking place in front of our eyes.

It had been less exciting when they grilled me after Jenna vanished. Asking why I had let her go, and if I suspected she was involved in drugs. A hundred questions had been aimed towards me, and I couldn't answer them fast enough.

As Theo and I departed Hawthorne with our dates, treading over the torn purple carpet and fallen paper bats, I felt the same feeling of being drained. Henry had his arm around me, and Theo was wearing Alex's suit jacket. I could still hear Lynn's heartbroken voice as she sobbed, the family friend taking her home without her daughter.

We stopped at one of the cubbies so Henry could tie his shoes. Looking down, he read off the graffiti.

"Your love is all I think about."

CHAPTER 21

SCHOOL FELT LIKE a crime scene. After my parents received word of Susan's disappearance, I wasn't allowed to walk to school anymore. I'd had a feeling that the time was coming, but getting rid of my limited independence was still a blow.

The fact that I had seen a ghost didn't surprise me as much as perhaps it should have. Instead, I felt more relief than anything. Even though it was entirely subjective, I felt like it proved that I wasn't crazy, especially after hearing about Eleanor from Corinne. I had inherited mommy's, well, grandma's little gift, after it skipped a generation. But I didn't know what to do now.

I kept expecting Alyssa to pop up again, to clarify what I'd seen, but nothing abnormal happened.

Hugh dropped me off the Monday morning after the dance. I had forgotten to set my alarm, and the bell was due to ring in a few minutes. I wasn't late yet, but I was close.

I walked up the stone steps and opened the door to the vestibule, rubbing sleep from my eyes. When I took my hand away, I gasped.

Jenna laughing. In front of me. And next to her was Alyssa.

Their faces were printed on black and white fliers that someone had taped to the entrance doors, and Susan's face joined them. The word MISSING was typed in thick font below each photo. Shaken, I opened the door and walked inside.

Lainey and Madison sat at a metal card table in the center of the main hall. Neat stacks of fliers were piled in front of them. Their own missing girl committee. My stomach did a somersault.

I walked over to the wall and ripped down one of the Alyssa's fliers. I couldn't bear to do it with one of Jenna's. I went up and shook the crumpled piece of paper in Lainey's face. She leaned back in her seat, her chin doubling as she scowled at me.

"What are you doing?" I barked.

"What does it look like?" she asked, a condescending smile on her bow-shaped lips. "I assume your eyes still work. We're helping."

"If I had any inkling that you had an ounce of good intention, I would thank you," I said. "But this is nothing more than a ploy to draw more attention to yourself. You don't need it!"

"I'm just a concerned citizen, Ariel," she said, her chocolate chip eyes becoming round and innocent. "Even if Jenna was a waste of oxygen."

I had never had such a massive urge to punch someone, especially when she said, "I haven't seen you do much for her. Trying to get into Henry's pants doesn't count."

I crumpled the flyer and tossed it in Lainey's face. It bounced off of her powdered forehead. Madison scoffed and leaned back in her own seat, glaring at me as I stomped away.

Despite the events at the dance, school kept going like nothing had happened. A lot of people were talking about Susan's disappearance, and the dance in general, but the teachers seemed to shy away from the topic, even with the gaudy flyers in every hallway. I wondered if they'd had a meeting on how to deal with us. For damage control, counselors wandered into first period, offering "someone to talk to" in case we needed it. I kept my head down and pretended to ignore them as other students tearfully wandered out.

In gym class, we were starting tennis. It was always the one sport that I kind of enjoyed. Claire and I used to drive up to the court at the middle school during the summer and play until the sun went down, drinking Kool-Aid mixed in water bottles. I had even taken a few lessons.

Theo and I paired up, grabbing rackets out of the metal bin.

"Why Alex?" I finally got the chance to inquire, still curious about how that pairing had been established.

"I honestly have no idea," she said, shrugging. "He's just really into me. It's flattering. And he's not as bad as he seems. After I left your house on Saturday, we talked online for hours. He has a sweet side; it's just buried deep, deep below the douchey act and terrible jokes."

Her words reminded me of what Henry had said. Alex had seemed awfully attentive at the dance.

We started playing against the other pairings in class. It felt nice to get my body moving, almost like I was taking out my stress on every swing, successful or not. I hoped the hour would run out before we had to play Lainey.

But of course it didn't, and we were pitted against the torture twins. We made the slow march to their net. Both girls were stretching their shoulders out, using their rackets for resistance. Lainey's eyes held on me with a curious fixation, giving me goosebumps. I wondered what insults were brewing in her tiny mind.

Theo served first, tossing the ball too high in her fervor. She swung clumsily and grazed the ball with the edge of her racket. Her second try whizzed right into our side of the net. That had been her method the whole time, but this was the only match where it really counted.

Lainey and Madison tittered with laughter. I looked at Theo sympathetically. Her face was almost as red as her hair.

"You serve first, Maddie," Lainey commanded.

Madison tossed the ball up daintily and swung her racket to meet it. Theo and I scrambled to the side of the court and rebounded the ball.

Despite the bad start, we held our own for the duration, which seemed to make Lainey angry. Not only when I returned her shots, but when she missed mine. Her eyebrows puckered, her hair unraveling from the tight, slick ponytail.

I'd never seen Lainey sweat, but little beads broke out across her tanned forehead. Her mascara was running underneath her eyes, making her look exhausted.

The score had been tied the last few minutes. Every time the ball whizzed over the net I prayed we could hit it back and win, the tension unbearable. The competition suddenly meant more than just a gym grade.

Lainey got ready to serve and her gaze locked on mine again. Hate made her eyes hard. She tossed the yellow ball up in the air and slammed it with all her strength, nailing me directly in the nose.

The sickening crack resounded through my skull, and my body fell backwards in slow motion. I expected to hit the hard parquet floor, but instead I fell through, the jolt I expected never coming.

I tumbled.

And then I stopped, and everything was black and silent.

I felt warmth on my cheeks, and I could smell the ocean. I opened my eyes and saw blue sky above me.

I could feel my limbs resting on a bed of beach sand. Before I had much time to contemplate this, Jenna leaned over me. The necklace with her name on it dangled from around her neck. The sun caught the tiny rhinestones and they twinkled.

The sky instantly went dark, large rain droplets splotching my skin. I felt paralyzed, without the strength to move. The smell changed to something briny and complicated.

Jenna was still leaning over me, although now the necklace was missing. Her face was as blank as it had been in my orphanage dream, like she was inspecting an alien. Curly hair like brambles fell around her face. Seeing her gave me no solace. Only fear.

I noticed with a chill that her eyes were entirely black. No longer sky blue, it was as if the pupils had taken over everything else. Who else had I seen with black eyes...with I start I realized it was the little dead girl. That meant...

My vision flickered again, and we were on the beach. I felt myself able to sit up, and began to do so. But as I moved my surroudings continued to waver. We were on the shore of a lake, a muddy bank replacing the gritty sand. My fingers sank into the muck, and the green lake water began to boil.

Back to the beach, sunlight glittered off of the lazy waves.

You've never been to the beach, Jenna, I thought. You always wanted to go but your parents never had the time...

I tried to speak, but I tumbled again, falling through empty, thick air. The sun became the yellow orb of the tennis ball, whirling straight for me. White hot pain split my face in two as blackness swept over me. A roar of noise filled my ears like water. It hurt. Everything hurt, even the sound.

Hawthorne's gymnasium crashed back to reality. I didn't remember opening my eyes; I could just see again. My entire head and face hurt, radiating back to my ears. My eyelids were puffy, so I could only see through little slits.

I found my limbs again and brought my hand to the wetness on my upper lip. Blood coated my fingers. My mouth was full of the rusty metallic taste, choking me. Not to mention I had the worst migraine ever, even worse than my unfortunate head injury at the orphanage.

I sat up carefully, still in shock. My t-shirt was dyed with blood, the entire front so red it looked fake. I silently thanked the universe for my strong stomach. Seeing that much blood come from my own body terrified me. For a split second I wondered if I was going to die, before I pulled myself together. No one could die from a tennis ball.

The gym was chaos. Kids were shouting, screaming. Everyone had stopped playing and had formed a circle around me. A forest of faces, some scared, some flushed with excitement like this was the best entertainment they'd had in weeks. The attention I hadn't wanted was all on me. I caught a few phones filming me and I cringed, not wanting to see this particular video pop up online and knowing there was no way to prevent it.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Theo's voice rang out clearly, like a very pissed off bell.

"It was an accident!" Lainey replied, the ever-present self-assured quality in her voice gone.

I searched the crowd, and found the red patch of Theo's hair. The people around them were backing away. Theo stood with her fists clenched, rising on her toes as if to appear taller. Lainey stood her ground, but she looked like she was shaking.

I heard Coach Fletcher's voice in the back of the crowd.

"Get out of my way!" she shouted.

I tried to stand, but I was still disoriented, not only from the pain and shock but from the vision of my absent friend that I had just been wrenched from. Reality didn't feel real or right. It felt more like watching a badly filmed movie.

Theo stepped up so that she was nose to nose with Lainey. "You can't get away with this." She put both small hands on Lainey's shoulders and shoved her.

Lainey stumbled a fraction of an inch. A switch flicked on inside her.

"Get your grimy hands off of me!" she squealed. She pushed back with her palms flat, sending Theo staggering into some onlookers. My trauma was all but forgotten, and they were the new sideshow. The paparazzi of camera phones turned their way.

Lainey hauled her fist back in a decidedly unladylike gesture to punch Theo. Before I could yell, Coach Fletcher appeared, with an unfamiliar woman in a white uniform at her side, and caught the dainty wrist of Lainey's punching arm.

"Enough!" she growled. "Office. Both of you. Now!"

"But..." Lainey spluttered, her face flushed.

"Not fair!" Theo said.

"Go. Now!" Coach repeated, pointing to the open gym doors. The fact that everybody had lost the ability to use complete sentences tickled me. Maybe due to massive blood loss. I snorted a laugh and immediately regretted it as blood sprayed out of my nose.

Lainey screamed in frustration, clenching her fists so hard her manicured nails must have cut her palms. She stormed off, messy ponytail swishing behind her. Madison followed meekly, even though no one told her to.

"You too," Coach said to Theo.

"But she's my friend," Theo objected.

"I'll tend to her." Her statement was final.

Theo glanced at me, caught between crying and rage. I attempted a little wave and fell back on my elbows. For a moment, she looked as though she would shirk Coach's orders. Then she was gone, too.

A moment later Coach and the other woman knelt down next to me.

"How are you feeling?" Coach asked gently, surprising me. People change when you're wounded. She held up starched white towels to my still bleeding nose.

"Lightheaded," I said, my voice crackling.

"I brought the school nurse," she said, and it almost sounded like an apology.

"Lie down," the nurse said, rolling up a towel and placing it on the floor. She guided my head down so the towel supported my neck. She was pretty and youthful, with caramel-colored skin and kind eyes. Sparkly green baubles dangled from her ears. "You look like you were in a prize fight," she said, smirking at me.

"The nose is bad enough, but she hit the back of her head pretty hard when she went down," Coach said to her as if I wasn't there. She seemed scared, talking too fast. The nurse nodded, her face professionally emotionless. She pulled out a stethoscope and held the metal end to my chest.

"What about us?" A boy in basketball shorts whined. Now that their entertainment was gone, the masses were getting restless.

"You're dismissed, go change," Coach said distractedly, as she cracked an ice pack and placed it gingerly on my nose. The gym emptied out quickly, everyone chatting loudly. In that moment, I would have given anything to know what they were saying. The nurse continued to check my vitals.

"I'm Nurse Callie, by the way," she said. "I'm going to take you to the office. It's really important that you see a doctor, okay? So, either we call your parents, or we call an ambulance if they're working and can't come pick you up."

"Call Hugh...my dad, he can come. He'll...be able..." The lightheadedness was getting worse even on the floor, and the gym was twirling gently like a Ferris wheel.

"Okay. Does the office have his number?" she asked, maintaining eye contact with me. I nodded. She checked my pupils with her pen flashlight.

"Can you stand?" she asked finally.

"I don't know, but I can try."

They each took hold of one of my arms while I pushed my body up. I was unsteady on my feet, but I figured I could make it to the office. It wasn't very far from the gym through the commons.

"Lean on me, we can make it," Nurse Callie said resolutely.

"Can I get a new shirt? This one is gross," I said. I didn't even want to know what my face looked like. From the feel of it, Quasimodo would be about right.

Nurse Callie chucked. "A little blood goes a long way. I'm sure we have a few extras lying around. Never know when someone is going to throw up."

I instinctively wrinkled my nose at the image, and winced at the sharp pain that followed.

"You okay?" she asked. We finally left the gym, passing by the trophy case that took up half of the opposite wall.

"Can we just rest here for a moment?" I asked hoarsely. The Ferris wheel was turned up to high and nausea was overtaking me. I didn't want to revisit breakfast.

"Of course," she said, helping me lean up against the trophy case.

"McPherson would hate me even touching this...with my unworthy fingers..." I said, shutting my eyes and laughing a little.

To my surprise, Nurse Callie laughed back. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

After a moment, we began again, as I leaned on her for support. In the commons, most of the kids who had been dismissed from gym were sitting around, enjoying their free time. I groaned. Several of them openly gawked at me, not surprising considering I was drenched in blood.

"Just ignore them," Nurse Callie whispered in my ear. I tried to focus on my steps on the floor. I had never realized just how huge the commons was. We finally navigated out and down the long, empty hall to the front of the school. When we arrived at the office, the bell rang for the end of class.

"Good timing," Callie said.

She held the door to the office open and ushered me inside. The door shut with a shushing sound, shutting us off from the sudden deluge of noise. The secretary behind the desk gasped beneath her blonde, poodle-permed hairdo, nearly dropping the phone in her hand.

"What happened to you?" she asked. "Were you in a fight?"

"Sports accident," Callie said, picking up a clipboard off of the counter and scribbling on it. "Got it covered."

She led me back down to a little closet of a room with a cot. Fluffy white clouds were sponge-painted on the baby blue walls. My nausea rolled into my throat again. The starchy cot sagged as I sat down.

"Just lie down here and I'll call your dad, okay?" she said, smiling encouragingly. I wondered how old she was; she couldn't have been more than twenty-five. "And I'll get you some less gruesome clothing."

She returned a second later with an oversized t-shirt with Hawthorne's mascot on it, the Hawthorne Hellcat. It had always looked like a tiger with horns pasted on its head to me.

"Thank you," I said, realizing I hadn't before. She just nodded and shut the door for my privacy.

I peeled off the bloody t-shirt and my bra, for once thankful I didn't really need it. Those went into the biohazard bag Callie had provided and into the trash.

I grabbed some paper towels from the dispenser on the wall and wet them in the little sink that stood in the corner. For the first time I glimpsed myself in the mirror. As I wiped blood off of my chest, I examined my face.

Blood choked my nostrils and ran down to my chin. The bridge of my nose and my cheeks were puffy and purple. All in all it wasn't as bad as I'd expected beneath the gruesomeness, but I still looked like crap. I had no idea how someone could cause that much damage with a tennis ball, and the hatred that had fueled the attack made me shudder.

Now that I no longer looked like a murder victim, I sat down on the cot, leaning my head back against the wall. My legs wouldn't stop jiggling as thoughts stumbled through my head. Hugh would be so worried, not to mention Claire. I hoped he wouldn't tell her until she got out of work, knowing that was futile.

I looked around the room for a distraction. Flyers addressing good health habits filled a plastic wall rack. The whole room smelled of illness, with hints of cough syrup and vapor rub.

I sat up when I recognized Theo's voice. It was coming from out in the hallway. And she didn't sound happy.

CHAPTER 22

I STOOD UP, legs still weak, and crept over to the door. Voices filtered through, one of them Theo's and the other Lainey's. I opened the door carefully to avoid making noise and peered out.

"I already told you a million times, it was an accident," Lainey said impatiently. In the minutes since she had left the gym she must have composed herself, because her voice was as steady as ever. Just hearing her speak with such ease made me angrier than the fact that she'd hit me.

They were sitting a few doors down in McPherson's office, the door cracked an inch. I could only see Theo's skinny legs, but I could hear both of them clearly.

"You aimed for her face, Lainey," Theo said. I imagined her pushing up her glasses. I had never heard her so mad, despite the few demonstrations of her anger streak I had witnessed.

"What motive would she have to hurt Ms. Donovan?" McPherson interjected, his tone maddeningly disinterested. For a split second, I remembered the strange odor in his shed, the impersonal way his house was decorated.

"Are you kidding me?" Theo asked. "Do you pay any attention?"

"I am your principal, Ms. Weaver, I would care for you to show me some respect," he said coldly.

"Why, when you don't respect any of us whose parents aren't rich?" Theo said, baiting him.

C'mon, Theo, don't get in trouble, I silently begged. What I wouldn't give for telepathy.

I knew why Lainey had attacked me, it was obvious: Henry. He was the root of the hateful, poisonous plant that Lainey had grown into. It was because I went to the dance with Henry, whom she had branded on day one as hers, whether he agreed with that or not. There was every possibility she had started that rumor about them dating, as well.

"That's enough," McPherson growled.

"Yeah, I mean, I was hoping that Ariel and I could be friends," Lainey purred. "But it's like they won't accept me into their little club." Now she was just pushing buttons, and hitting all the wrong ones. I wished I had stronger fists.

"Don't exaggerate," McPherson said to her. "We need to talk about a fair punishment."

"Punishment?" Lainey sputtered. How dare someone punish a princess?

"You were fighting in class. We have a no tolerance policy for fighting. I think that three lunch detentions, for both of you, is an extremely fair and mild discipline..."

"What?" Theo asked. "What about punishing her for the fact that she broke my friend's face?"

In my lightheadedness that made me giggle randomly. I noticed warm wetness seeping out of my nose and touched my fingers to my upper lip. More blood. I could taste the iron in my throat.

I rushed over and grabbed some paper towels. I moved too fast and swayed on my weak legs, so I rushed back to the cot. The room spun in one direction and then reversed, and I bowed my heavy head between my knees, still clutching the towels beneath my nose.

I strained to hear the girls again, but I could only make out droning voices. I couldn't stand for a few minutes, and by then the discipline meeting was over, and Theo and Lainey were out in the hall. They must have stopped right outside the sick bay door.

"How would you like it if Ariel's family sued the crap out of you?" Theo asked bitterly.

"I'd like to see them try," Lainey snorted, in the same tone of voice that she probably used to talk about the weather or her credit card balance. "My father's lawyer has never lost a case, and we'd bankrupt her family with legal fees before it was over. But give her my condolences for her nose, anyway. My uncle's a plastic surgeon; I should give her his card."

"What is wrong with you? Are you even human?" Theo asked incredulously, speaking my feelings out loud. I feared for her safety, even in the office with adults around.

Lainey dropped her voice low and slithery. "Maybe she shouldn't have gone after what was mine."

I heard her footsteps trod down the hall. When I was sure she was gone, I cracked the door open and stuck my head out. Theo was frozen, clinging to a yellow detention slip and looking like a wounded rabbit. I felt a rush of affection and protectiveness for my friend, glad that Lainey hadn't gone postal on her, at least.

"Well, didn't that just suck?" I said. Theo turned unfocused eyes to me. Without a word, she came over and hugged me tightly. She pulled back and studied my face, wincing at what she saw.

"Okay, maybe it's a little bad," I murmured self consciously.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking as though she might cry again. Pink glitter was smudged all over her cheeks and forehead, and her eyes were bright red from crying.

"For what?" I asked, touching her arm briefly.

"That all of this happened."

"Uh, it's not your fault," I said, leaning against the door. "There was no way you could have known she would bitch out on me."

Theo sniffled again. "Are you okay? It looks terrible." She tilted her head to inspect my wound from a different angle.

"Well, it hurts, yeah." Now that the pain had lessened a little, I was more concerned about how bad it must have looked.

"It made a really nasty sound when you hit the floor," she said, shaking her head. "That was really twisted."

"That's Lainey for you."

"He didn't even punish her for hitting you," Theo said, jerking her thumb in the direction of McPherson's office. "He said it was an unfortunate accident. He just gave us detention for fighting."

"I heard," I sighed. "We just can't win."

"Because everyone puts up with it," Theo barked, green eyes flashing. Her anger was coming back. I could tell she had quite the temper buried beneath the colorful cuteness.

"Can I remind you not to piss Lainey off?" I said gently. "Remember, more money, more connections, way more power than we lowly worker ants?"

She pounded her fist against the wall. "That's the same crap she pulled when she sprained my ankle."

"What?" I asked, frowning.

Theo bit her bottom lip, hesitating before she spoke. "She knocked me down at the mall. That's how my ankle got twisted. She'd never even met me before." Her eyes flickered to one of the many pictures of missing girls that were in the hallway. "And I wasn't going to say this, but...I'm pretty sure that she was there, too. I recognized her when the posters went up."

I glanced at the picture. She was talking about Jenna.

"But that was back in May, so I didn't think it was important," she continued.

the bell rang, the perfect excuse for her to bolt.

"I've got to go," Theo said, scampering away before I had a chance to digest what she was saying.

"Theo!" I called, but she just ignored me.

###

"Your dad is here," Nurse Callie said, appearing behind me from the door to the nurse's station. She eyed me sternly and pursed her red lips. "You were supposed to be lying down."

"I thought that I was going to throw up. Walking around helped." It wasn't a lie, I just told it backwards.

I followed her to the front office. Hugh was standing in his tweed coat, looking uncomfortable and worried. There were circles under his eyes, and I felt terrible that he'd had to rush up to school without knowing what had happened. When he saw me, both relief and unanswered questions flitted across his face. He held out his arms and I rushed into them.

"What happened?" he asked, hugging me but avoiding my nose. It felt too intense to look at my father, like my eyes might give me away. I stared at an inspirational kitten poster tacked up behind the desk, but his presence gave me comfort.

"What happened?" he repeated, this time turning to Callie. She opened her mouth to speak, but McPherson breezed in from the hallway like he'd been waiting to make his move.

"Just a little accident during gym class," McPherson said, his ugly smile appearing beneath his bushy mustache. He missed his calling as a mortician.

"What kind of accident, Edgar?" Hugh said coldly. I had no idea that was McPherson's first name, and it took me a second to connect the two.

"Another student hit her with a tennis ball," Callie supplied.

McPherson gave her a look that said shut up. Callie backed away, pressing her lips together, but her eyes told a different story.

"The situation has been dealt with. I assure you that everyone here feels terrible about it," McPherson said.

"The situation has not been dealt with," Hugh said, anger rising in his voice. It took a lot to make my father angry, but once he got there, his rage escalated quickly. His arm was still tightly around my shoulder. "My child was just injured on school property, so I want answers. Who is responsible?"

"The identity of the student isn't important..." McPherson started.

"Lainey Ford," I mumbled. No way I'd let him ignore who hurt me, even if he wanted to. McPherson glared at me like I was a bug to squish.

"And why not?" Hugh said, his angry laugh almost a scream. "How much money have the Fords dumped into this pet project of the Thornhill Society? Of course they would have you comfortably stashed in their back pocket."

"Thornhill has nothing to do with this!" McPherson said, raising his voice in anger. I just wanted to lay down. This was too much. The walls started to undulate, the counter swooping up and down. Nurse Callie and I made eye contact.

"Gentlemen, I think that's enough. Ariel needs to see a doctor," Callie advised, stepping in between them. That brought Hugh back down to earth. She handed him my backpack, which had appeared in one of the office chairs.

"Right now, I need to drive my daughter to the emergency room," Hugh said through gritted teeth. "But this discussion isn't over."

McPherson nodded his head and retreated, swinging his arms like a soldier. Hugh, grim-faced, signed me out of the office as I waited beside him.

"Good luck," Callie said, her pretty face sympathetic as she winked at me.

It was raining heavily when we got out to the parking lot. Hugh opened the umbrella he'd brought over our heads. We didn't speak until we were safely buckled inside his car.

"Accident?" Hugh echoed, turning to me. His eyebrows were raised nearly up to his sandy hair. He waited for my reply.

I bit my bottom lip. How could I put it so Hugh wouldn't get all up in arms? I didn't want my family to go up against Lainey's; she was right, they would bankrupt us for looking at them funny. I worried my lip in hesitation.

"That's what she says," I said carefully. "We were playing tennis in gym, and she hit the ball, which struck my nose. It could have been an accident, yes."

Hugh gently grabbed my chin and rotated my head side to side.

"I think you made enemies with the wrong person," he said, and started the car.

We spent the afternoon at the local hospital. The emergency waiting room was packed when we arrived, full of coughing kids and broken limbs. It took nearly forty-five minutes for the triage nurse to get to me. I felt goofy as I explained what had happened. She gave me a sticker with a foil daisy on it and I stuck it to my knee.

After more waiting in the exam room, a technician performed a CT scan on my head to check for problems. But when the doctor breezed in, he told me there was no internal bleeding or real cause for concern.

"And there's just a small fracture at the top of the bridge," he said cheerfully, as if it were good news. Did he not see that I was a fifteen-year-old girl, not a college football player?

"My nose is broken?" I asked, horrified.

"Yes. But once it heals you shouldn't notice any difference in the way you look," he said dismissively before hurrying back out into the hall. Easy for him to say.

"You'll be okay," Hugh said, his voice cracking.

Hugh stopped at the drugstore on the way home, and stocked up on ice packs and tabloids, the best reading material when one is incapacitated. I watched farther down the street as the traffic lights turned green, yellow, red.

"Does this mean I get to stay home tomorrow?" I asked when Hugh slid back in the car and plopped my haul on my lap. I began digging through the stuffed bag, immediately finding Twizzlers.

"I suppose it does," he said with a tired, forced smile. I could tell he was worried, and I wanted to whisk that worry away.

"You know, It doesn't even hurt now," I said softly. "You heard what he said, it'll heal soon."

"You don't have to convince me, honey," Hugh said, patting my shoulder. His face was still tight and hard, jaw clenched.

I leaned my head against the window as it bumped against the glass. My eyes kept sliding shut, lids heavy from a combination of swelling, tiredness, and medicine. I was suddenly very hungry but food sounded gross.

By the time we got home it was dark, the stars twinkling benignly in the soupy sky. We went inside and Claire squeezed me in a tight hug. It was a rare show of affection for her; normally hugs and head pats only came on special occasions. I patted her back stiffly through her jacket.

Pulling back, she inspected my face like Hugh had, her cold hands on my cheeks. Exchanging one of her glances with Hugh, they silently shared their worries.

"I wanted to come to the hospital," Claire said apologetically. "I couldn't get off of work, and your father said it was all right. She looks awful, Hugh."

"Thanks so much," I said, my voice stuffy from the cotton wads stuck up my nose.

"She's fine, Claire. The doctor checked her out, he ran a head scan, and he didn't find anything to concern him. Her nose will heal. She's going to be okay."

He couldn't stand still in the kitchen, tossing his keys on the counter and drumming his knuckles, then pacing over to the fridge and back. Unspent anger colored his cheeks.

"Honey, why don't you go take a shower?" Claire said to me. That meant she wanted me out of the way so that they could argue. "The steam will probably make you feel better," she finished.

The suggestion did sound heavenly. My spine ached from falling on the gym floor and laying in the hospital bed. _Falling through the floor_ , my thoughts whispered. _You fell through the floor and you saw..._

"Yeah, I think I'll do that," I said, willing my thoughts away. It was just a dream, no different than when I had dreamed of Jenna at the orphanage. So what if I had seen the ghost of a little girl merely a few days ago? That was a totally different experience.

I knew I was fooling myself. Whatever fate had befallen Alyssa, there was a good chance the same thing had happened to Jenna. But I couldn't bring myself to try to dissect it now.

I went into the downstairs shower, a towel slung on my arm. Hugh and Claire were talking in hushed voices, but I could still make out most of their words.

"Is it dangerous for her to be at that school?" Claire asked.

"I don't know," Hugh said after a moment.

I paused, shivering in the bathroom even though it was warm. I hadn't thought about it like that. I turned the shower on hot, letting the steam fill the bathroom and fog up the mirror.

"There's definitely favoritism," Hugh said. "The Thornhill reach extends all the way into the classrooms."

"You really think it has to do with that silly committee?"

Hugh didn't respond.

I undressed and stepped into the shower. The throb of pain in my face was sharpening, meaning the painkillers were wearing off on schedule. I shampooed quickly, then just stood in the hot water. It felt good on my aching face.

When I eventually finished and toweled off, I fully expected to hear Claire and Hugh yelling in the kitchen, possibly launching pots and pans. But silence greeted me. After I'd gotten dressed, I found the first floor was empty, the stove light the only one on. It must have meant they had retreated to their individual corners.

A few pieces of baked chicken sat on a cookie sheet on the stovetop. I made myself a small plate, and while I didn't usually take food to my room, I figured this time would be all right. I trudged down the stairs with my tabloids and my food.

It didn't take long after eating and taking my pills to fall asleep. The only nightmares I had that night involved Lainey's hateful eyes.

CHAPTER 23

**I AWOKE IN** the morning to find Hugh had already called in for both of us. There were also a few texts from Henry, wondering what had happened, if I had lost a limb or bled to death, if I was all right. I sent him back a reassuring message so that he would calm down.

"What if Gwen needs you there?" I protested to Hugh at breakfast.

"Gwen runs the place better than I do. Now eat," he replied.

He slid two pieces of French toast from a skillet onto my plate. My favorite breakfast food since I was a little girl. I couldn't taste anything very well because of my nose, but it was still a nice change from plain cereal.

I spent the day lazing about the house, watching daytime TV and putting together an old puzzle I found underneath the couch. I wondered what Theo was doing, hoping she was keeping her anger to herself.

Around 3:30, I heard a knock on the front door. I got off the couch where I had been watching courtroom shows and answered it.

Theo stood on the porch, her hands clasped demurely. She smiled sympathetically when she saw me. The world behind her looked inviting after being cooped up all day, even with the gray sky and cold ground. I didn't know how I'd lasted so long over the summer inside.

"How are you?" she asked.

"Bored," I said. "Come in. Did I miss anything at school?" I shut the door behind her, with one last longing look at passing cars.

"No, nothing as exciting as yesterday," Theo said, taking off her sneakers. "You are the gossip around school, though." She ran a hand through her hair. "Henry asked me how you were; I thought you would want to know that."

A little thrill went through me. "Oh."

We sat down on the couch. It took a moment before either of us spoke. Theo picked up the cushion behind her and hugged it to her chest. Her admission yesterday about Jenna hung heavy in the air.

"I wanted to check on you," she started. "But I also wanted to tell you more about what I said yesterday."

I sat up straighter, bracing myself for whatever bad news she might share.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about seeing Jenna before," Theo said.

"Are you sure it was her?" That was the biggest question that had been nagging at me. "You're absolutely positive that Jenna was the girl?"

"Positive." Theo ran her finger along the hollow of her pale throat. "She was wearing a necklace with her name on it."

Hope hidden inside of me deflated, right when I realized it was all that remained.

"I gave her that necklace," I said. "For her tenth birthday. She gave me a turtle piggy bank." I didn't realize I was ripping a tissue to pieces until I noticed the mess on my lap. Scooping up the pile, I put it on my leftover plate on the table.

"But I never saw her hang out with those girls, and she never told me they went anywhere together. We used to talk smack about them nonstop. I mean, they harassed us from the time we were little..."

I knew no amount of rationalizing would help. I sat back against the couch cushions, turning the old coin again. Theo seemed on edge, and kept darting nervous glances my way.

"She didn't do anything to me," Theo said finally. "It was sort of how it was when you saw Henry stand by and watch that kid get beaten up. She didn't do anything wrong, really, but she didn't stop it, either. Maybe that wasn't her place."

"What exactly happened?"

Theo sighed, resting her hands on her knees. "I was at the mall with my mom, something I almost never do because I hate the mall with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. But she sent me off to pick out some summer clothes. I was walking, and I saw this group of girls all dolled up like they were going on dates. A voice in my head just whispered they were going to be trouble for me; it was like a flashback to middle school."

"I'm sorry, if this is making you uncomfortable..." I began.

Theo waved her hand dramatically. "No, no, it's fine. Good to get it out." She nodded as if agreeing with herself. "Yeah. Anyway, they just sort of stopped in the middle of the main walkway. It was busy, there were tons of people there shopping. So I went to go around them, and the blondest of them all—that's how I thought of Lainey at the time—stuck out her leg and tripped me. Very juvenile. But my leg twisted as I went down, and my ankle ended up being sprained."

"And what did the other girls do?"

"Madison laughed her hyena head off. Those eyes almost popped out and rolled around on the floor." She rubbed her knees again. "The lone brunette—Jenna, sorry, I give strangers nicknames—just looked at me with her mouth open."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

I nodded. "Thanks for telling me. And I'm sorry that happened to you." As much as I didn't want to admit it, I was starting to think there were things about Jenna that I didn't know.

###

I was ready to go back to school the next day. A lot of stares were aimed in my direction, but I clutched my books to my chest and did my best to ignore the inquiring eyes. In gym class, Coach insisted that I sit out even though I told her I was fine. I peered across the floor to the spot where I had fallen. The blood was all cleaned up, of course, but I could almost see it, a shiny crimson puddle.

I didn't even look at Lainey and she ignored me in kind. We were instantly back into our old roles of popular girl and roadkill.

At lunch, even though Theo had to serve her unfair lunch detention, I still sat in our old spot against the wall, enjoying my spooky spaghetti in peace. Theo had gathered up my homework from the day before and I was trying to blow through it as fast as possible, not wanting to fall behind.

Henry suddenly crouched down in front of me. Oh no. I hadn't wanted him to see me like this. Texting about it was one thing, but seeing the actual nose brokenness...there was only so much I could hide with concealer.

"Hi," I said, embarrassed. I tried ducking my head down, but my crouched position made it impossible.

He remained where he was, shaking his head back and forth slowly. That didn't instill a lot of confidence in my appearance. "They weren't kidding," he said softly.

I wished he would stop looking at my face. Why hadn't I armed myself with a paper bag?

"What did the doctor say?" he asked.

"I'm fine. It's not even that bad. Just looks ugly," I muttered.

"Oh shut up," he scoffed lightly. "You're always beautiful, this doesn't change that fact."

A thrill rushed through me, and I grinned up at him while he patted my nose with gentle fingers. My heart was dancing out a contorted rhythm underneath my shirt.

"Did they give you painkillers?"

I nodded.

"Sweet," he said, grinning. "Gotta look at the benefits, right?"

"Right," I said. I wanted urgently to kiss him again, even if it was in the middle of the noisy commons. But the dance seemed like it had been months ago. We hadn't discussed the kiss or the attraction between us.

Henry looked at me for a long moment, and I thought he might actually read my mind and kiss me. Instead, he stood up swiftly and glanced back at the table he was sharing with Alex and a few of their male friends.

"Well, I was just checking to make sure you were in one piece. I'll talk to you later, okay?" And he was gone, back to where his friends were waiting.

It was the most recent of many times that I thought our relationship, as it were, had finally progressed into something more than friends. But I still wasn't entirely sure what I meant to him.

He definitely seemed to care about me, and there was a real attraction between us. But he kept his maddening distance. He always went back to his world.

###

Although Lainey and Madison carried on relentlessly with their missing girl's committee, stopping people in the hallways and handing out information cards, not much came from it. I wished that Alyssa's ghost had told me more; now all kinds of questions nagged me. Was she the one who had been banging on the walls and whispering? There had been no more noises in my room, but it wasn't the first time they had stopped temporarily.

I didn't understand why Alyssa would appear to me of all people. To my knowledge, I had no connection to her. I'd never met her in real life, and I was pretty sure that all the times I'd seen her were after her death. The biggest questions were how she had died and why she kept messing with Hawthorne's lights. Accepting that I'd seen Alyssa's ghost didn't make those mysteries any less frustrating.

In homeroom, a girl who sat behind me was talking about how her father moderated the police department tip site. Those sitting around her were listening intently to her words.

"The missing child inquiry is clogged," she said, apparently enjoying her short time in the limelight. I turned back around in my seat, but kept listening intently. "They've been getting a bunch of false leads and prank submissions, hundreds a day to sort through. Every lead they've followed has been a dead end. The PD is talking about involving the state, maybe going on the national news. The mayor wants to keep it quiet, though, says it's bad for tourism."

I knew that Jenna's profile had blown up, clogged with posts from various people with clues and bogus "tips." At first I had been extremely excited, until I started scrolling through them and saw that it was a bunch of garbage. The page had been cleared out and shut down, with a note to contact the Hell Police Department directly.

I tried not to look at the flyers, but I gravitated towards them. Jenna's face seemed to follow me everywhere. Her ink eyes reminded me of how black they were in my vision. The possibility that she really might be dead like Alyssa loomed large, but I just couldn't accept it without proof.

The lights began flickering often in school, and no one could figure out the cause of it. No one but me, but I couldn't tell. The inconvenience drove everyone nuts, especially the teachers. Electricians still hadn't been called, and even though we kept hearing it would happen during the morning announcements, there was always an excuse as to why no electrical crew showed up.

"This is no way to conduct school," Warwick muttered after another blackout. "How is anyone supposed to learn in turtle soup?"

I was watching him with my chin propped on my hands. Frowning at his words, I pushed the strange feeling aside as he went back to his lecture.

The only teacher who didn't seem to be affected was Ms. Fellows. Her projector would shut off, and she would merely stare at the roll down screen, blinking, until the power came back on.

After class late in the week, Mr. Warwick pulled me aside. My nose was healing pretty fast, although it was still so bruised that my caked on foundation was necessary.

"Great job on the test, Ariel, really," he said. I had gotten an A on practically every history assignment I'd completed, but it still gave me an accomplished feeling. Seeing the big red letter on the page brought me back to first grade, when every check plus made me feel smart.

He sat on the edge of his desk, analyzing me with cautious gray eyes. Warwick felt like an uncle to me, closer even than Aunt Corinne, and I'd gone to him several times as a kid when I'd broken something or skinned my knee. Still, that was the past, and as I'd grown older we'd started to begin the descent into strangers.

"It must be hard for you," he said finally, crossing his arms. I noticed that his pale blue shirt looked wrinkled, like he didn't own an iron or didn't know how to use one.

"What's hard for me?" I asked. My eyes found the globe behind his shoulder and focused there, picking out England, Spain, China.

"Seeing your friend's face all over school," he said. "You've been doing great in my class, but I can tell that you're upset. You don't interact much with the other students. You don't ever raise your hand even though I know you know the answers."

"I don't have anything to say," I said, shifting my binder from one arm to the other. I was very uncomfortable with heartfelt talks. My heart could stay right off my sleeve and inside my chest. "I prefer to write my answers down."

"I just wanted to let you know if you ever need anything, there are people you can trust," he said. "I'm one of them. Your dad and I have been friends for many years. You could tell me anything that was bothering you. I could be your private ear."

His head was tilted to the side, wide eyes staring at me intently despite the placid grin on his face. It struck me in that moment as sort of spooky, although I dismissed the feeling. I had just been thinking about how Warwick was like an uncle, and now I was spooked? Definitely ghosts on the brain.

Still, he wasn't blinking. I mumbled my appreciation, looking at the floor. I was suddenly feeling very weirded out, and I wanted to get out of there. Whether it was my own imagination or not.

"Thanks," I said.

"So is there anything you want to share?" he asked. Twinkling eyes still wide, the weird placid grin remained firmly on his thin mouth. His head was tilted to the side, making it look like his neck was broken.

"No, not right now," I said.

"Okay," he said, jumping off of his desk. "Just wanted to let you know that I was there. Go on off to class now, I'll write you a hall pass."

I took the pass and walked out of his classroom. As soon as I was away from him, I berated myself for reading into things. And why, because Warwick was blinking a little less than normal? Maybe he had eye trouble.

In all honesty, I couldn't stand being talked to in such a saccharine tone. Maybe that was what squicked me. Did that make me ungrateful?

Would it always be this way? Would I be getting printouts in the mail in ten years, age progressed to make Jenna look like she was twenty-five? Maybe I would never know what happened to her.

###

When I arrived at school on Friday, an electrical truck was parked in front. Workmen were walking around with ladders, assessing lights. The 'how many people does it take to screw in a lightbulb?' joke kept popping into my head.

I heard them talking to McPherson about going down to the control panels in the basement, but that they'd have to come back later with better equipment. McPherson was ringing his hands, asking about insurance protocol.

I waited in the commons for Theo before homeroom. We had planned on quizzing each other for Spanish, but Theo didn't show. I flipped through my flashcards absently, hoping I was prepared enough, and wondered when she'd get there.

A few minutes before the bell rang, my phone beeped a text alert. It was Theo, saying, _I'm not coming to school, I'm sick. Doctor's office. Sorry! Hope test goes okay._ Theo texted novels the same way I did. She had been complaining of the sniffles and a sore throat yesterday, I recalled. I sent her a get well text back and went to class.

I missed Theo in gym, where we were twisting into yoga poses, led by a college instructor to new age music. Lainey's flexibility made me jealous as I wobbled from one pose to another. She and Madison pretended I didn't exist, which was a relief. I wondered if her parents had coached her on ways to avoid retaliation for my still-bruised nose.

In art, the empty seat that Theo usually occupied made me lonely. I felt selfish depending on another person so much for companionship, but it had helped so much to pull me out of my introverted state.

Theo was so different from Jenna in so many ways, but we had already become quite close friends when I wasn't paying attention. Part of me felt like I was betraying Jenna by moving on, but the other part argued that perhaps she had betrayed me.

I just wished I knew what fate had befallen her. The more time that passed, the smaller the chance that I'd ever see her again.

Art class itself had taken on a relaxing atmosphere. We were still deep in free painting, and now that I didn't take my attempts at art so seriously, I was actually enjoying myself.

I picked up my brush and dipped the end in brown paint, working on a ropey-looking horse's tail. In actuality it looked more like a camel than a horse.

Henry seemed tense, shifting around in his seat. Without Theo beside me, I didn't check myself in daydreaming in his direction. He had called me beautiful, after all. If only his affection wasn't so difficult to figure out.

Twenty minutes into the hour-long class, he got up and asked Ms. Vore for hallway permission. Since I always involuntarily glanced at him whenever he moved, I gazed up at him and was surprised to see him staring intently at me. Either me, or the poster behind me of the talking pencil. He didn't smile like he normally did when our eyes met.

What was going on with him?

He left the room, and didn't come back. I couldn't help checking the clock as the minutes ticked by. Ms. Vore was too busy helping other students with their paintings to notice.

Out of nowhere, the fire alarm started blaring. It was so loud my ears hurt, and I dropped the paintbrush in my rush to cover them. The muddy paint made a brown splotch on the floor.

"Okay, everybody, let's go," Ms. Vore said calmly, already standing at the door. Everyone lined up, shuffling out into the hall. Our teacher remained unruffled, although I saw her push her glasses up her nose and it reminded me of Theo.

I followed the quiet procession of strangely somber kids. I was the last in line since I sat in the back corner. We headed down the hall towards the outside exit in a single file line.

Ariel...Ariel...

Someone was calling my name again. The voice came from the opposite side of the hall, farther into the school. The fire alarm was still blaring, red lights flashing, yet I could hear my name clearly. The strange urge to follow an invisible path manifested again, like it had the night I'd spied on McPherson.

I suddenly had to find Henry. He could be in danger.

I ran away from the line of my classmates. Ms. Vore didn't notice me because she was already at the exit. I hoped I could find him fast and get out. I had no idea what had caused the fire alarm to go off, but it couldn't be good.

CHAPTER 24

**FARTHER INTO THE** school, the electricity suddenly went out. I froze, skidding to a stop and almost falling over. Of course today would be the day I didn't wear sneakers, the impracticality of the heeled boots on my feet never occurring to me.

The red emergency backups came on, but then they shorted out too, and I was left in soupy, gray darkness. _Is_ _that you, Alyssa, or the school's cheap budget?_

Even though I had spent many months in Hawthorne's halls, I became lost. The invisible tugging feeling weakened and disappeaered. I didn't know which way to turn. Everything felt too real, my vision wobbly and at the same time too sharp in the dark, like watching a documentary.

I spun around, not knowing where I was. Why did I insist on being so impulsive? I patted my pockets for my phone, and realized I had left it back in the art room. Panic seized me, my heart beating wildly, and felt as though I would jump out of my skin.

I crept down the hall, even though I had the urge to run. Shadows had taken on form, like living things. It was as if the insides of the school had changed, warped. Hallways seemed different. Common landmarks had lost their meaning.

I turned a corner and bumped hard into someone. I started to fall. Whoever it was grabbed my forearms and lifted me up before I hit the ground.

"Careful," a familiar male voice said, and I recognized with immediate relief who it was.

"Henry," I moaned. It came out more passionate than I intended.

"Ariel?" he asked with concern, looking into my face. I had no idea how he could see me in the dark. But then I realized I could see his face now, too, more familiar than my own. The red emergency lights were back on. So it had been ghost tampering.

"You're not supposed to be here," he said softly. _Neither are you,_ I thought immediately, but did not say. "You're going to get in trouble."

A blast of fire erupted from my left. Orange flames were shooting out around the basement access door. Henry grabbed my hand and we rushed past it, heat searing our faces. I quickly knew where I was again as we passed my homeroom, and couldn't believe I would have ever gotten so lost. There was another fire in a classroom to our right, smoke pouring out into the hall and stinging my eyes.

We burst out through the vestibule and outside. The afternoon sun stabbed my eyes. Students and teachers covered the parking lot and lawn, a chorus of voices talking on cell phones and with each other. A fire truck was parked in front and firemen in yellow reflective jackets were lining up to go inside. They staked out the area, communicating with one another on walkie-talkies.

McPherson spotted us and began stomping up the stairs, face purple with fury. Henry dropped my hand without looking down, leaving it empty. I twisted my hands together beneath my chin.

"And so the trouble begins," he whispered under his breath.

"What the hell were you doing still inside?" McPherson hissed, looking at Henry. Then he turned his attention to me and glared. I resisted the urge to cower. McPherson's eyebrows were trying to meet his mustache. I didn't know that it was actually possible for a person's face to be that color. "What a surprise that you of all people would be caught where she shouldn't be."

I didn't like the implication.

Henry stepped forward. "If you really need to discuss this further, you can speak to my father. You have his number, correct? Or do you need his card?" He had affected an arrogant, snotty tone, one I'd only heard briefly before at the orphanage. It both impressed and confused me.

McPherson stood still as a statue, for once at a loss for words. Henry placed his hands on my shoulders, leading me down the stairs and into the crowd.

"Walk over by that tree, there's an empty spot," he whispered in my ear. I melted a little, feeling his breath on my neck.

"I didn't need you to save me," I said finally when we were out in the crowd. But he wasn't paying attention to me, too distracted by some unspoken thing. I stared at him, at the face I had secretly studied countless times. I knew his right nostril was a fraction bigger than his left one, and one of his canine teeth had a small chip. And I could tell he was keeping something from me.

"What did you have to do with the fire?" Of course, it made perfectly logical sense now that I said it. He had plenty of time to set the fires after he left class.

"I didn't have anything to do with this, Ariel," he said, but his voice was too flat and toneless. He wasn't as good of an actor as he thought he was, and it didn't help that he couldn't look at me, still gazing off into the sea of students. The openness that was normally all him had disappeared.

"What's the matter with you?" I asked, peering again at his face, trying to catch his eyes.

"There's nothing," he said. "I have to go."

He finally looked into my eyes, and his expression softened. The change was very subtle, but having paid so much attention to him, I saw it instantly. He tilted his head, taking me in.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Now that he mentioned it, I was starting to feel really sick. My throat was sore and I could hardly breathe through my still-sensitive nose. In the sun, I could barely keep my eyes open, and they were watering like I had allergies.

"Actually, I feel sort of crappy," I admitted. "I didn't think I inhaled that much smoke..."

"It all happened so fast, you probably didn't realize." He looked conflicted for a moment, emotions playing on his features. "Well...take care of yourself," he said cryptically, and left me behind as he became one of the crowd.

His reason for abandoning me alluded me, and as I squinted in the afternoon sun, I felt sadness and rejection threaten to swallow me. Why would he leave? It reminded me painfully of Jenna's transformation. I didn't think I'd done anything to upset him, either. Maybe he was just worried about the fire, or upset about my running into foolish danger, even if he didn't know it was for him.

He was just freaked out, I assured myself. Regular Henry would return soon, the one that I knew, the one that I'd glimpsed when he'd assessed me.

The firemen had headed inside while I was trying to decode Henry. Smoke was billowing out of the front windows where we had been a few minutes earlier. I watched as the spray from their hoses doused the impending blaze.

I wandered around and found Ms. Vore's class fairly easily, near a plowed pile of aging snow. I hoped my absence had not been noticed, but I couldn't tell for sure.

The fires didn't spread, and soon the smoke tapered off. After the fires had been put out, we were allowed ten minutes to go in and get our things, as long as we stayed with our teachers.

School was supposed to be dismissed a few minutes earlier, but in the confusion no one had said anything. Parents were showing up scared, worried about bomb threats and phantom explosions.

I went inside to get my backpack. Henry was nowhere to be found; his books were already gone. I was feeling progressively worse, both physically and mentally, with all the questions running through my head. McPherson was wandering around doing damage control out in the hall; the sound of his voice made me anxious, like I was about to be captured.

As I slung my bag over my shoulders and tried to leave the classroom, Lainey stuck her arm out, blocking the exit. I hadn't even realized she was in the room.

"I'm only going to tell you this once," she said, her voice low and steady. "It's silly that I have to tell you, because I thought I'd already made myself clear. Leave Henry alone."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," she spat, showing every perfect, shiny-enameled white tooth in her mouth as she snarled. "You are not one of us. You don't belong. Obviously, even Jenna realized it when she dumped you."

I could have slapped her, but I clenched my hasty fists instead. _What if he doesn't want you?_ My mind screamed. But I was not brave enough to say it. I just nodded meekly and let her words hang in the air, ashamed of myself.

"Good. Because next time, your nose won't be the only thing that gets broken," Lainey hissed.

For a moment, it almost looked as if Lainey was going to spit on me, but she turned and walked away, her heels clicking loudly down the hall.

The sobs trapped in my chest made it harder to breathe. I realized that Lainey scared me, something I had never really put together before. She had already broken my nose and gotten away with it. What else would she do?

Ms. Vore came back into the classroom then and saw me in my pathetic state.

"You look like you're about to pass out, Ariel," she said, steadying my limp shoulders with her hands.

"Just the smoke," I said, looking away and sniffling as my nose started to run. It must have looked like I was tearing up, even though it was due to whatever was wreaking havoc with my sinuses.

"How about I walk you out?" she suggested softly. I nodded. She grabbed a patterned bag full of sketchbooks from the back of her chair and slung it on her hip, flipping off the classroom light.

"How is Theo doing?" I asked as we walked.

"She's all right. She has the flu, and her dad's taking care of her since he works from home," she explained, tucking her short brown hair behind her ears.

"Theo told me about him. He lives down our street, right? What does he do?"

"He makes wooden sculptures and sells them online," she said, shrugging. "It's a living. Anyway, I think you might want to head to the doctor yourself, honey. You look like you've got the flu, too."

I groaned and palmed my face. Of course, I was coming down with the flu. "I don't know why I didn't think about that. We spend so much time together now..."

"I've noticed that," she said. "I wanted to tell you I'm really grateful that you took her under your wing." It didn't seem that way to me, at all. As far as I was concerned, Theo had saved me.

"She was really depressed for a while, especially before we moved out here," she explained. "And in the meantime I thought I was moving here for her benefit. I'm just really glad she made such a good friend."

We continued walking through the hall silently. I just wanted to be at home and sleep, but I tried to keep up. It meant a lot to have a friend's parent actually like me, and not think I was either a bad influence or roadkill.

"I know it wasn't very fair of me to call you out for looking at your boyfriend," she said out of the blue. I had nearly forgotten the incident in the months since, but I looked at her, neglecting to correct the "boyfriend" part.

Her face was solemn. "It's just that you have vision, and if you only stop yourself from being distracted by silly school stuff, you'll go far. I know that's easy for me to say, that it all will pass, but it will, even though the easiest thing to do sometimes is to get caught up in it."

"My art isn't exactly good," I countered shyly. "Or really, even art."

"Maybe you won't win any awards anytime soon," she conceded. "But you do have an eye for seeing things in a new perspective."

We reached the front doors of the school, where the firemen were still talking to McPherson and his secretary. The gleaming red fire trucks idled outside, while a group of men wrapped up the spent hoses. I was not in the mood to have to walk home, but I braced myself.

"Do you need a ride?" she offered. I nodded, grateful. I was already sweating through my coat and I shifted uncomfortably.

I didn't remember much of the ride home, trying my best just to stay alert. Vore seemed happy to do most of the talking, telling me more about how much she enjoyed teaching. When we pulled into my driveway, I wobbled out of her car.

"Tell Theo I said feel better," I told her. "I've already said it a few times, but once more won't hurt. And...thank you." She nodded, smiling, and pulled into her own driveway.

I walked in through the front door, not able to make myself go around the back, and chucked my backpack. I rubbed my temples, which were throbbing in time to music on TV.

Hugh came out of the den with a book in his hand. "What's up?" he asked. "No more sports incidents, I hope."

"I think I have the flu," I groaned. I swayed on my feet and headed for the couch, pulling the quilt on top of me and yanking it up to my chin. I still had my boots on.

Hugh came back in with the thermometer. I started to tell him about the fire at school, but the words came out like gibberish.

"Don't try to talk. Just rest," he instructed. The thermometer beeped its jaunty little digital tune.

He was more concerned when he saw the 103.9 fever, reading it off with a serious grimace. He lay a cold washcloth on my forehead, and next I was aware, he was on the phone with the pediatrician.

"Doc said if your fever doesn't go down significantly tonight we need to go to urgent care."

"Hugh, no, enough hospitals—" I groaned, pressing the now warm washcloth over my eyes.

"Just take this Tylenol and hope," he commanded.

He always got very nervous when I was even the least bit sick, ever since I was a little girl. I was too uncomfortable to process anymore, so I closed my eyes. Burrowing under the blankets, my mind became a peaceful blank sheet.

###

My fever dropped a little overnight, but it was still holding steady over 101.5. I felt very warm, instead of the chill a fever often brings, and alternated throwing the covers off and yanking them back on me. I hated being cold when I had the flu; it made my skin prickle.

In the morning, I stayed parked on the couch. My head was so stuffy I felt like I was in another world, and my skin burned all over. Sneezes kept coming and my throat hurt like crazy. I watched morning cartoons and then an onslaught of infomercials. I never realized just how many gadgets were created for the sole purpose of cutting up vegetables. Chopping carrots didn't seem that hard.

Claire came in every once in a while to monitor my fever. Between this and my nose, I had given them too much to worry about lately.

"Am I dead yet?" I asked, coughing. My lungs felt as though they were full of nettles and thorns. I waited for the taste of blood.

"Don't say that."

"What's wrong? At least no one tried to take off any of my body parts this time." I made hacking motions with the side of my hand. I had a tendency to get juvenile when I was sick.

Claire rolled her eyes, dropping emerald green flu pills into my palm and closing my fingers around them. Then she whisked away the overflowing grocery sack of used tissues beside me.

I took the pills with a swig of ginger ale. I couldn't focus, feeling the drowsy effect taking over, and closed my heavy eyelids.

The tick-tocking of the grandfather clock in the dining room seemed more noticeable. The change was slight at first, so I barely noticed. It grew louder in degrees, until it was the only sound I heard. The sound warped into the sound of thumping on the wall behind me, as rhythmic as the swaying of a metronome, lulling me into sleep.

CHAPTER 25

**A WHITE CORRIDOR** of doors stretched before me. It was pristine, like a hall of rooms in a fancy hotel. The doors were uniform in shape and size, lining both sides in flawless symmetry. Framed in thin gold, they glowed with inner light.

For an instant, the corridor flashed to a dank twin, with a broken crib and old leaves on a rotting wood floor. Boards stuck up at dangerous angles, and the doors themselves were sagging off their frames, crumbling away.

Then the elegant hallway was back. This time it stayed in place. The other world was an illusion.

As I walked past, each door melted into the wall and disappeared. I ran my hands along both sides, feeling nothing but smoothness beneath my fingertips. It was a sort of numb, detached sensation, like I was just borrowing the body I was in.

It seemed as though I had been wandering forever, but then I reached the end of the corridor. A lone black door awaited me, taller and of a thicker wood than the others. A strange, copper-colored metal symbol, like a bunch of sticks tied together, was set in the center. The symbol looked so familiar, but at the moment I couldn't place it.

I opened the door, and the world shifted. Losing my balance, I toppled onto the ground. I looked up and saw a square-shaped opening above. Dull light poured through. Reaching up through the opening, I grasped the sides and pulled my body up.

I found myself in the caretaker's shed by the Dexter Orphanage. Through the door, I darted across the sprawling lawn, crossing through the gate without looking behind me. Something shapeless and menacing was keeping steady pace a few yards back.

Outside of the gate, I could no longer detect anything following me. Heat made the thick air shimmer, and faint lines of smoke seemed to float in from all directions like jet contrails.

I walked through town aimlessly, not really recognizing where I was. The version of Hell that surrounded me seemed just a little off from what I knew. The world was wrong, angles tilting precipitously. The street was black, undulating like snakeskin, and angry clouds filled the swirling, violet sky.

Girls began to scream, not one but many frightened, hopeless voices in an unsettling chorus. The street burst into flames around me and I was sucked back into my body.

I woke up on the couch, sucking in my breath as I sat up. I was drenched in cold sweat, my shirt sticking to my chest and back. But it felt like my fever had broken. Putting my hand to my forehead, the skin there felt clammy.

"What the hell is this, the haunted couch?" I mumbled to myself.

###

I was miraculously better in time for school, due to my religious use of flu medicine. The sides of my abused nostrils were red from tissues.

Being sick, I had all but forgotten about the fire incident on Friday. But everyone in the commons was talking about it when I walked in on Monday. The most prevalent theory surrounded an antisocial group at school that always wore black and pretended to be anarchists, making a political statement against forced education.

Of course, there were plenty of whispers involving Henry's and my name, too.

Basement access was no longer padlocked, but a line of traffic cones symbolically blocked it off. I wondered if that would actually keep potential snoopers away. Scorch marks shot out from under the door, as if something had been trying to reach out.

When I arrived in the locker room, Theo was waiting expectantly for me.

"Seems like I chose the wrong day to get sick," she said, fiddling with her combination lock. "What happened while I was gone? I keep hearing people talk about a fire."

Before I could open my mouth, Coach Fletcher walked in. "Don't bother changing," she said. "There's going to be an assembly concerning the fire. Leave your stuff here and let's go."

"Do we have to?" groaned Madison, who had already donned her gym shorts and was brushing her hair.

"Yes." Coach marched back out.

Theo and I were still wearing our street clothes, so we walked straight into the hall. I filled her in on the events of last Friday during the short walk to the auditorium. She agreed that Henry sounded suspicious.

"But don't write him off yet," she said. "He obviously cares about you. You should have seen the way he stared at you at the dance. You might as well have been his bride or something. Maybe he just got scared, or worried he would get in trouble. You know how guys are; they can't talk about that stuff."

Lainey and Madison passed by us then, as always wanting to be at the head of the crowd. I waited until they were out of earshot before I spoke again.

"His bride?" I asked, incredulous.

"You know what I mean," Theo said.

"He does seem romantic. That's why I got so crazy about him. Sometimes he's all I think about." I'd never admitted it out loud before, but I knew Theo would understand.

"Well, yeah, if I had a sickly hot guy falling all over himself for me, it would be a huge deal," she agreed.

"What about Alex?" I teased. "He's not bad looking for a meathead."

"Meh," she said, shrugging. She rubbed glitter out of the corner of her eye. "I still have to think about that. He did send me a get-well email. There were kittens. That has to count for something."

The auditorium was packed nearly to capacity when we arrived. It looked like every freshman and sophomore was seated there. I had no idea what to expect. Public execution wasn't out of the question. The faculty members stood along the walls, deep in conversation.

McPherson appeared onstage, lit like a ghoul in the stage lights. Shadows made him appear ancient in front of the ruby red theater curtain.

"Quiet down now," he said without pleasantries, waiting until everyone was silent. "Although most of you were here last Friday, let me give you a refresher. We had a serious incident. Several fires were set on school property, causing minor damage. The staff and I have discussed this matter. We will not rest until whoever responsible is punished."

"Some of you might be wondering who among you is to blame. Our initial investigation has brought us the names of several persons of interest that I will be interviewing." He scanned the crowd menacingly.

"Do you think he's talking about you and Henry?" Theo whispered.

"Of course he is." Although it was impossible, I felt like McPherson was looking directly at me.

The assembly lasted for fifteen minutes, the whole time McPherson going on and on about personal responsibility and the limits of freedom at school being in our best interest. Sure, I thought. When you're on the enforcing end of things.

When the students were finally dismissed, our class filed back out into the hall. I started to follow the herd back towards the gymnasium. But Coach Fletcher stepped in front of me, her boxy form blocking me from going farther.

"Donovan, you need to go to the office," she said. She had gone back to treating me like any other kid, broken nose all but forgotten.

I sighed. Theo smiled sympathetically at me, raising her crossed fingers for emphasis.

Anxiety invaded my body. I had never really been in much trouble before, save for the time I drew with crayons instead of chalk on the sidewalk in elementary school and had to wash it off for an hour with a garden hose.

I headed to the front offices and walked into the inner sanctum. Carnation bouquets were wilting on the counter, purple and yellow dye fading. I had been in this room too often lately.

"I was told to come to the office. My name is Ariel Donovan," I told the secretary. I couldn't tell if she recognized me when I wasn't bathed in my own blood. She pointed with her pen back to McPherson's office. This time I was the one in trouble, and I shuffled across the brown carpet to my doom.

I knocked on the door, but no one answered. When I opened it, Henry was already sitting, rather casually, in one of the chairs in front of McPherson's tidy desk. His office was just as organized and sparse as what I'd seen of his house.

"Hi," I said meekly to Henry.

"We meet again," he replied, brushing dirt off of his shoe onto the floor.

"What's going on?" I asked, sitting in the chair next to him. He was still aloof and unreachable, as he had been last week. He simply shrugged.

I wanted desperately to ask him why he was being so evasive. Had I done something to stop him from liking me? After how close it had seemed we had gotten...

"I just want to get this over with," he said. "I have things to do." Fire burned behind his usual energy. He seemed far more pissed off than anxious or worried. He kept shifting in his seat, and his eyes were lit with some unspoken passion.

"This is serious, at least to me," I whispered harshly. "I don't have lawyers for parents." I couldn't understand what had happened to my Henry, the one who was always kind and had a joke for every occasion. The one with the amazingly clever, fast-paced brain that kept me on my toes. The one that I loved, I realized at the worst moment.

The office door opened, and we both turned. McPherson entered with a stack of papers and walked to his desk, setting down the bundle.

He sat down in the wingback chair and rested his elbows on the desktop. Tenting his fingers, he sneered down his nose at us. Henry snorted with derisive laughter, making it known that he thought McPherson was a joke. I looked at him like he was crazy.

Then all the humor washed out of Henry's face. "Is all this really necessary?" he spat.

"I assure you it is, son," McPherson said calmly. His attention suddenly switched to me, and I gulped.

I was scared, not only because I knew I was not McPherson's favorite, but also because of how he demonstrated it when Lainey hurt my nose. Not to mention what I knew about his weird living quarters.

"Why were you still inside the school after the alarm went off?" McPherson interrogated me. "Why didn't you stay with your class, or at least go out one of the other fire exits?"

I paused, mouth open, unsure of what to say. Honesty seemed like the best defense, but with how strange Henry was acting, I didn't want him to think I was placing blame.

"I need an answer," McPherson snapped.

"I went to find Henry," I admitted, hoping I wasn't getting him in a deeper hole than he was digging himself. "He left during class and he didn't come back, so I wanted to make sure that he got out safely."

"Basically, her behavior was stupid, but well-intentioned," Henry said coldly.

I didn't believe I'd heard him right at first. Then anger filled me. Who was he all of a sudden? Was this his evil twin?

"No more stupid than whatever you were involved with," I countered.

"You have no idea what I was doing. Stop pretending like you do," he said, glaring at me and sitting up in his seat.

"What I do know is that I did nothing to you to make you act this way towards me. So why the change?" I challenged, matching his posture.

"Enough bickering," McPherson said, interrupting us. McPherson and Henry just looked at each other blankly. I wondered what I was missing.

"I believe you've already spoken with my father," Henry said. "He'll give you any answers that you need."

McPherson sat still, debating what to do with us.

He scribbled two hall passes. "Go back to class for now." He leaned back in his chair, unattractive face smug. "But don't get too comfortable."

As we left McPherson's lair, Henry trailed behind me. The tension between us made the air unpleasantly thick. When we were alone out in the front hall, I confronted him.

"What is it?" I asked again. Henry wasn't looking at me, his quietly burning eyes trained on a poster of a teacher's apple. "Hello? I asked you a question."

He made me furious, treating me like an idiot in McPherson's office. After all the time we had spent together, I deserved better.

"You're acting like a totally different person," I continued angrily, hoping somehow to crack through his resolve. His lips were pressed tightly, and he bit the bottom one so it disappeared. "What happened to make you be so cruel?"

"I don't always have to explain everything to you," he said, his gaze flickering to me.

Maybe there was something wrong with me that caused the people I cared about most to turn on me. What else could the explanation be? "What would you suggest I do? I can't get in trouble. My parents would ground me for the rest of my life."

"You're not going to get in trouble," he snapped, glowering at me. He leaned in close, so close that I could smell his familiar, woodsy scent. "You will be fine."

"How can you possibly know that?" I asked, searching his wide, furious eyes, filled with some unspoken emotion I couldn't name. He stepped back, still gnawing his lower lip like he was eating his words.

"Just leave me alone from now on." He turned, thrust his hands into his pockets, and started to shuffle away. He didn't turn around as he spoke. "You'll stay out of danger that way."

As I watched him go, I was happy for once to be immune from crying.

###

Ms. Vore lobbed my sketchbook on my desk when I arrived in art. Her eyes met mine, a paler green than Theo's, but just as full of emotion.

"I want you to know that I vouched for you being in class when the fire alarm went off," she said.

"Thank you," I replied genuinely. "I'm really sorry if I caused you any trouble..."

"You should be," she continued, trembling. "The school could have brought disciplinary action against me if anything had happened to you. It's very disappointing." She ran her hand through her hair. "It just proves to me that I shouldn't try to be your friend."

"Please don't think that way," I started, but she just shook her head, and resumed handing out sketchbooks.

"She'll get over it," Theo said after Ms. Vore had walked back up to her desk. "Give her time. She just doesn't want to get reprimanded since she's new here."

I felt really horrible, and the twisted thing was, my thoughtless actions weren't even worth it. Nothing but bad had come from following the pull and running back into school. Maybe Alyssa wasn't so innocent, after all. Maybe she was trying to get me in trouble. After all, she hadn't shown up again to tell me why she'd appeared in the first place. She'd just left me with a host of unnerving questions.

Hugh was reading the newspaper when I arrived home. I stood looking through the sliding glass door at him, trying to figure out what to say first.

"Why didn't you tell me about the fire at your school?" he asked the minute I walked in. Claire had driven me home since she had taken a vacation day, and dropped me off on her way to the store. I wasn't ready for another ambush.

"I thought I did," I said, shutting the door. "It was on Friday, when I was sick. My head was a little wonky. But I need to talk to you about it now."

He folded the paper back up in a messy lump and tossed it on the table.

"I think there's a possibility I might get in trouble," I started. "But I didn't really do anything wrong."

He was starting to look angry, which was exceedingly rare for Hugh. I stood opposite him, twisting the hem of my shirt in my hands into a wrinkled mass. The familiar surroundings of our house suddenly felt like a courtroom, with me presenting my case.

"What happened?" he demanded.

I explained, but left out the part about Henry. Claire would ban him from the house if she thought he was getting me in trouble, charm or no charm. _He's not coming back_ , the persistent voice in my head insisted. Yet even though he'd been an ass to me, I felt unjustifiably protective. A girl that knew better and did the foolish thing anyway.

"That was incredibly stupid of you," he said once I was done explaining that I'd run back in to find a classmate. "Your job is to take care of yourself. You get all hocked off that your mother and I worry about you, and then you put yourself in danger."

I had no reply for that.

"Jenna's disappearance is affecting your judgment, whether you see it or not."

Yeah, and he didn't know the worst of it. Sneaking out and having possible seizures in abandoned buildings. Seeing dead little girls hanging out at school. Spying on the principal.

"There is still the matter of what happened with the Ford girl," he said, getting up and going for more coffee. "McPherson knows I'll bring it up if he dares press anything with this. So don't worry."

"Are you sure?" I asked. Ever since the disciplinary meeting, I had been apprehensive McPherson would kick me out of school, but I'd tried not to dwell on it. There were plenty of other things to worry about.

"I'm sure," he said. "But that doesn't by any stretch mean that you're off the hook. Now go downstairs and work on your homework, or whatever you can that keeps you the most out of trouble."

Not only was I grounded, I also had to fork over my phone for the week. I begged him not to tell Claire, but he said he couldn't keep secrets from her, because they were in a relationship, and relationships meant honesty. If only I had the same courtesy with Henry.

CHAPTER 26

**AFTER WEEKS OF** putting off the task, Theo finished the sketches that Hugh wanted her to create for him. I think she would have been done much earlier, but she was a perfectionist. I'd always thought her work seemed so effortless, but she never felt she got things right. I watched in horror as she tore up absolutely beautiful drawings for the sin of tiny flaws.

Hugh only allowed me to go to school and Erasmus. He and Gwen went through Theo's new sketches, both of their heads bent over the portfolio. Their expressions were serious and contemplative. Theo was doing a tour of the gallery again; it was much less nerve-wracking for her than standing and watching her work be critiqued.

"I heard you got in a little trouble, huh?" Gwen said to me, flipping another sketch over with great care.

"She's apparently decided it's rebellion time," Hugh said.

"I'm sure she's not so bad," Gwen said, winking at me. "When I was sixteen, I shaved off every hair on my head and got a tattoo with a fake ID."

"See, Hugh? I don't even _want_ a tattoo."

Both adults tittered at that, but I could tell he was still pissed. They did, however, gush over Theo's art, making her beam when she finally came back to talk to them. Hugh made a hefty stack to prepare for matting.

The powerful feeling that someone was watching us overtook me. I turned my head towards the frosted front window. Two little girls were peering in, huddled together as if to keep each other warm.

Alyssa's raincoat hood was pulled up and Susan, whom I recognized from her flyers, was wearing a party dress. Both of them had their small palms and noses flat on the glass. They watched me with beetle-black eyes, as if waiting for an answer, or permission. Behind them, it began to snow, big white fluffs that swiftly covered the ground. None of the snow flakes landed on the dead girls.

###

Despite my hope that things would change, I soon discovered that Henry wouldn't talk to me in school. In fact, the person he had been disappeared, replaced by a specter that shuffled down the halls and never smiled. Every time I saw him I wanted to reach out, to talk to him, to shake him and ask him what was going on. But I didn't know how.

"What is up with your boy?" Theo asked one day as November chugged on.

"He's not my boy," I said emphatically. "And your guess is as good as mine."

Henry laid his head down on his desk. He was wearing the sweatshirt with the blackbirds inside the hood pulled over his head. I clenched my fingers, ignoring the strong impulse to go over and stroke the back of his head.

"Maybe he got sick like us," Theo suggested, but I knew it was more than that.

For the next week, he acted distant. He brought his thick fantasy books to class, kept them open on his lap under his desk as he read. The teachers ignored him, since he wasn't causing trouble, but I couldn't. He sent me a text on Tuesday to let me know that he couldn't do tutoring anymore. It interfered with his schedule, he claimed. Although it shouldn't have been a surprise, it felt like the final blow.

I got the picture, as bleak as the November sky.

###

A loud banging noise startled me awake. I began to panic before I even opened my eyes.

"Not again," I whispered, sitting up on my bed in the dark and clutching my comforter to my chin. My room had been peaceful for weeks, with no strange occurrences or vanishing lights.

But the sound wasn't coming from my room, it was coming from out in the main basement. Pulling my door open gently, I stepped out into the pitch black hallway, the cement floor chilly on my feet. The furnace groaned gently at my back.

I heard the gentle rapping again and stood still. A fist on the French doors was my best guess. I crouched and grabbed a weight sitting just inside the door of Claire's still-untouched exercise room. Just because the person was knocking, didn't make them welcome. I made my way through boxes and around the pool table with its canvas cover, to where I could see outside.

The motion detector light was activated and someone lurked outside the door. A dark figure like in an alarm company commercial. I stifled the urge to scream. As my eyes focused, I recognized Henry's face—only from the nose up, but it was enough.

I sped over and unlocked the door, pushing it open.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I hissed.

"Are you going to hit me with that?" Henry leaned back warily and gestured to the hand weight.

I tossed the weight on a nearby chair, wrapping my arms across my chest to keep out the frigid night air.

"I need to talk to you," he said. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were flushed from the cold.

"And you couldn't find a better time than three in the morning?" I asked skeptically.

"Well, I knew you would be free," he said, in a shadow of his old good humor. He rubbed his arms through his sweatshirt and complained, "It's cold out here. Are you going to invite me in or am I walking the long walk home?"

I hesitated. This was so against the rules. But the pleading look in his eyes and the thrill of having him here for me won out.

I stepped aside and swept my arm out. I was suddenly acutely aware of my cupcake pajama pants and frizzy bed hair.

"Thanks," he breathed, the air expelled from his lungs like vaporous ghosts. He stepped in and I pulled the door shut as quietly as I could.

"You have to be really quiet," I whispered. "If my parents knew..."

"Understood," he whispered back, holding his hands up like stop signs.

I couldn't believe this was real. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was just another dream. And that made me remember my long ago dream that wound up with us making out in my bed, and I blushed in the shadows.

"Follow me," I whispered, and led him down the hall. Being out in the main basement felt too open, like we were just waiting to get caught, but when I stepped into my room and turned on the lamp, it felt too intimate.

"Have a seat," I said.

Henry sat down in my desk chair. I sat on the bed, aware that the floor was my only other option, and that would put me in an even more awkward position.

"What was so important that you needed to walk to my house in the middle of the night?" I asked.

As he dropped his hood, I noticed that his hair was disheveled, like he had been lying down, tossing and turning while trying to sleep. He stared at the floor before speaking. "Do you trust me?"

That was out of left field. "Should I?" I had plenty of reasons not to, but I didn't speak them aloud.

He worried his bottom lip with his teeth again.

"Do you trust me?" he repeated, more emphatic.

"I don't know," I said automatically. "I used to."

I remembered how soft his lips felt on mine when we kissed at the dance, the pressure of his hands on the small of my back. I looked away.

"I want to be able to prove to you that you can," he said. "To try and make up for blowing up at you."

"Why? To start with, you haven't spoken a word to me in weeks," I said, the hurt that I felt bubbling to the surface. "You were the one who chased after me, and then you just ignored me like I was invisible."

"I know." He looked down again.

I quickly scanned my room to make sure I had no embarrassing personal effects sitting out. He was twisting a key ring around his thumb, the keys jingling softly. "I found out some things and...there's a lot going on in my life right now."

"Yeah, well, mine too." I was uncomfortable, thinking that it was a mistake to let him in. Not just into my room, but to let him in to my life at all. There was a moment of loaded silence.

"I pulled the fire alarm."

"What?" I asked, my eyes widening. But I had heard him fine.

He squeezed his own eyes shut tightly. "I pulled the fire alarm. When I left art that day."

I opened my mouth to speak, and shut it again. In my shock I had no words, no clever response. I'd suspected it that day, but for him to admit it....how could Henry—my Henry—be capable of such a thing? A mental picture emerged: Henry with his hood pulled up, sneaking down the halls with a handful of matches, dropping them like breadcrumbs...

"But I didn't start the fires," he said, and now he was looking at me, his eyes begging me to believe him.

"What are you talking about?" I asked. I stood up, suddenly wide awake and alert. And very aware that I could be in the room with an arsonist.

"It's such a long story, it's hard to explain. I don't even know if I know enough to explain it." He was babbling, unlike most of the time when he always seemed to know the right words. "I was being blackmailed."

I stood silent, my look conveying that he should continue.

"When we moved here, I started getting emails from an address I didn't recognize. The person presented evidence that he had something bad on my father, something that would destroy him professionally and maybe even destroy his marriage to my mother."

I sat back on my bed, legs crossed as I held my ankles for support.

"The last email that I received told me to go up to the top floor of the school, and pull the fire alarm. It didn't say why, it just gave me a time and a location. I figured they needed to clear the school for some reason, but now I'm thinking I was being set up. And I think I know who's behind it. McPherson."

"I just felt like I had to talk to someone," he continued. "And you're the closest person to me right now. I avoided you before because I didn't want to pull you into this with me. When I'm stressed out, I'm a bastard. I can't deal with anything. You should know how much I care about you by now. That's why I had to come here tonight."

That admission, that I was the closest person to him, made my heart swan dive. At the same time, my head was reeling, filled with his words.

"I wasn't supposed to ask questions," he said, rubbing his face with his hands and then looking up at me. "So I tried not to."

I could tell he was sure I didn't believe him. "I swear, I'm telling you the truth," he continued. "I have no reason to lie."

"Do you have any idea what the blackmail itself is?" I asked, whirling my hair back and whipping it into a sloppy ponytail.

"I'm guessing it has something to do with his work," he said thoughtfully. "In the profession he's in, there are all kinds of situations he could get himself into. Lying for a client, stealing..."

"Is your father capable of that?" It was a hard question, but I felt that I had to ask it.

"Yes," he said without hesitation.

"What do you suggest we do about it?" I asked, my shoulders slumping as I tried to process what he had told me. The surrealism of the night, having the not-so-secret object of my affection sitting in my bedroom, unloading all of his secrets to me. A month ago, even a few weeks ago, I would have welcomed it. Now it felt like I was being handed a piece of an incredible burden.

"I want to check out the security office," Henry said, his mind made up. "I figure we find some way to get everyone out of the office, and then go in there and look through the files."

"And you make fun of my strange trespassing ideas," I scoffed, trying to bring a little levity to the situation. He smiled weakly, a shadow of its former glory. Everything about him seemed paler and muted, like the colors were washing out and soon he would be completely gray.

"Will you help me?" he asked, his dark eyes pleading.

"Yes," I said. "As long as you answer me this. Why were you so mean during McPherson's meeting?"

Henry bit his lip again. If he kept it up, it was going to start bleeding; the flesh was already dark red. "I was trying to push you away so you wouldn't get hurt. But I just hurt you anyway."

"Oh." I dipped my head, my hair falling in a black curtain in front of my face so he couldn't see my confused expression.

After a moment, he put his hands on his knees, and boosted himself up. "Okay," he said, getting up to leave the room.

"Where are you going?"

He thought about it for a long second. "Home, I suppose."

"You can stay here," I offered, gesturing randomly around my room.

"I don't know if your dad would like that," he said, smiling wryly. He looked so tired, I couldn't possibly imagine him having to walk all the way back home in the cold.

"You can sleep in here. On the floor," I added, in case I was giving off any other vibes.

I took a pillow and an extra blanket from the foot of my bed, and propped them up on the floor.

"I know it's not fancy," I said apologetically. "But at least you don't have to go back out in the snow."

"It's fine. Thank you." He took off his sweatshirt and laid it on the back of the chair. The homey gesture reminded me of when Hugh would come home from work, and toss his jacket on my parents' bed. As he propped himself up, I sat down next to him on the floor. I couldn't help myself.

His eyes registered confusion now that I was so close. I stroked the side of his cheek with the back of my hand.

"Can we finish one thing?" I asked softly. And then I kissed him. He responded immediately, moving his lips against mine, putting his arms around me, his muscles trembling with restrained desire.

The kiss grew in intensity, all of my feelings rushing to my mouth, searching his with my tongue. When I finally pulled away, gasping for breath, we stared into each other's eyes. He was so close that they blurred into one.

His hands slid slowly up to my shoulders, and then down my sides to rest at my hips. With the excitement and want bubbling in my stomach, I knew if I didn't put a stop to our actions, things might go much farther.

I gently removed his hands from their hold around me, and kissed him briefly on the lips. Then I shifted my knees beneath me and began to stand.

"Goodnight," he said, pressing his forehead quickly against mine. He lay down on the pillow, looking incredibly inviting.

I crawled into bed and shut off the light before I changed my mind. In the dark, I tried not to pay attention to the whir of images in front of my unseeing eyes, and Henry's breathing from below me, making every cell in my skin tingle in anticipation.

###

During lunch the next day, Theo and I were the first in the commons, reserving two seats for Henry and Alex. We filled the extra seats with our bags so no one else would join us.

"I don't know if I want to be a part of another one of your crazy schemes," Alex said, shaking his head.

"Okay, Ricky, you just go to the Tropicana," Theo said.

"What the hell?" Alex wrinkled his nose like he was about to sneeze. His mouth was full of chicken nuggets, and I cringed.

"You never watched I Love Lucy? Why am I not surprised?" She scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"Can we please get back to the topic?" Henry asked impatiently.

"Sorry," Theo muttered. "But what are you hoping to find on the tapes?"

He had, due to my insistence, explained everything to them. After all, we'd been co-conspirators before, during our break in at the orphanage.

"Hopefully, one of them will show who started the fires. Or at the very least clues as to what happened."

"How are we going to get them?" Alex asked.

"We need to create a distraction so that we can get into the security office," Henry explained. "That way we can check out the tape from the day of the fire. And that is where you and Theo come in."

"How exactly are we supposed to do that?" Alex asked.

"Figure something out," Henry said. "You're both very creative." Theo and Alex seemed doubtful, wearing twin skeptical expressions. They probably thought we were crazy, and they weren't far off.

A chance to get into the security office didn't come for days. We were all busy, preparing for first semester finals. It had never been so hard to study, to focus on the task at hand. It didn't help that the teachers were cracking their whips at our backs.

Henry hadn't returned to his old self, but he hung out with me a little more. Our foursome started sitting together in the commons again, although we'd only spend a few minutes catching up on our plan of action before moving on to mundane chat about classes.

One day about a week later, we were walking to English, when Henry pulled me aside up against the lockers. He spoke out of the corner of his mouth, and I had to strain to hear his hushed voice. "This is going to sound so paranoid. But hopefully you won't tell me I'm psycho."

"What is it?" I asked.

"I feel like there are people watching me." His eyes darted around, not helping the paranoid conclusion. "Like spies. I just feel like what I'm doing is being observed, by whoever it is that's blackmailing my dad."

I looked around at the slow moving crowd, but I didn't see anyone paying attention to us. Still, I sensed that he was right.

###

I took it as a cosmic sign that McPherson was absent from school the next day. Nurse Callie did the morning announcements instead, a welcome change. In the middle of it, the lights flickered again, and everyone groaned. With a buzzing like a giant fly had landed on the roof, they came back on.

"And hopefully we'll be getting someone to attend to those lights," Callie improvised lightly.

But I kept staring at the ceiling. It was almost as though I could feel Alyssa trying to communicate with me, trying to draw my attention. Somehow I knew today was the day we should go forward with our plan to get into the security office.

Henry must have had the same gut feeling, because he agreed with me. The four of us hammered out the details, skipping lunch. I felt a touch of the paranoia that Henry had spoken of, like someone knew what we were up to.

A few minutes before the lunch hour was up, the four of us were all standing over by central office. We watched the secretaries through the glass front as they chatted by the counter, unaware of the scheme we were hatching.

"I hope this works," I said softly.

"Me too," Henry replied. We stared at each other, and I saw my own trepidation in his eyes. If we got caught, we would be in much worse trouble than before, maybe too bad for even his father to rescue us.

"Ships ahoy," Theo muttered. Taking a deep breath, she dropped to the hard floor and started screaming, writhing around like her skin was on fire, mopping the floor with her hair.

"I didn't mean it!" Alex shouted, all part of the scene we had rehearsed.

The two office assistants, followed by Nurse Callie, ran out to where Theo lay twitching on the ground. She was piling on the dramatics pretty thick, practically howling, but they didn't seem to be on to her deception. All they saw was a student in pain.

Henry and I rounded the corner, walking quickly and bypassing the cluster around Theo and Alex. The security officer took his lunch breaks outside, so we had the office to ourselves. Henry held open the door, and I slipped inside first. He followed me, hopefully unnoticed.

Henry led the way back into the security office without stopping. Inside, a slideshow of different locations in the school cycled on the monitor. I felt my adrenaline bumping again as I stared at the security guard's temporarily empty chair, a mug of stale coffee by the control panel.

There were boxes of labeled DVDs beneath the desk. We each pulled out a box and started thumbing through them. Every DVD was dated.

"What was the date of the fire?" I asked.

"November sixth. It's not here," he said, not sounding entirely surprised. "Son of a..."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"I'm completely sure. Thursday the fifth is here, Monday the ninth is here. No Friday." He slid the box back in place.

"What do we do next?"

"Follow me," Henry said resolutely. He pushed the door of the security office open and peeked into the hall. I stood behind him, peering over his shoulder. When he saw that the coast was clear, he snatched my hand and led me to McPherson's office door.

"Oh, we're going for the big leagues, huh?"

"Go big or go home," Henry said with a wan grin. He pushed the door open.

It was creepy being in McPherson's cove without him there. It wouldn't have surprised me if the Principal had booby-trapped the place. But no net descended.

It was very dark, the shades on the window drawn. Henry wasted no time in going to the desk and pulling open drawers, not bothering to keep quiet. I kept lookout at the door, still able to slightly hear Theo's caterwauling.

"What have we here?" Henry asked. I looked towards him, and saw he was holding pieces of a broken disc. It was the November sixth security DVD. "It was in the top drawer," Henry said. "Now what does that tell you?"

He slid it in his pocket, and we hurriedly went out of McPherson's office.

"So McPherson had something to do with it," I said as we speed-walked our way towards the exit. "But how do we find out what happened if he broke the evidence?"

"Our only alternative is to go down in the basement." There was a desperation haunting his features that I couldn't argue with. "We have to see what he's hiding."

"Why are you so sure there's something down there?" I asked, but I knew he was right. The voices I had heard at the door, the charred black marks like a sunburst from underneath. All obscure evidence that the basement harbored a secret. Not to mention McPherson's creepy shed, and the fact that he was conveniently missing.

"It's something so important he felt the need to stop the electricians or anyone else from going down there," Henry reasoned. "They were supposed to come on the following Monday, Wick told me. If you don't want to go, I'm not going to make you—"

"Oh, I'm going," I said firmly.

We slipped out of the office and into the hall, where Theo and Alex were still holding everyone's attention. It looked like they were running out of ideas. We skidded back around the corner, keeping fast to the wall, and then came back, walking as casually as we could.

"Oh my gosh, Theo! Are you okay?" I asked, rushing to her side. I hoped my acting skills were passable, as I hadn't needed to use them since the school play in seventh grade.

"I think I'm all right, I just got knocked down by this dummy and I thought I broke something," Theo said groggily. I caught Alex wrinkling his nose at her. I helped Theo up to her feet, where she immediately straightened.

"Yep, I think it passed," Theo said, striding away with her shoulders back.

Alex shrugged to the others left wondering what had happened, and trailed behind us. I especially hated tricking Nurse Callie since she had been so nice, but I felt like it couldn't be helped.

"Did you find anything?" Alex asked when we were out of earshot. Henry filled them in on the broken DVD.

"So now you're going into the basement?" Theo asked, looking concerned. Alex was trying to smooth her messy hair and she didn't attempt to push him away.

"We'll be careful," I assured her. I was just as determined as Henry to find out what McPherson was hiding down there. And what it had to do with Alyssa and Susan. And Jenna.

As soon as I thought about the girls, the lights began to seizure, zapping on and off rapidly. It was much more violent than before, and I was glad none of us were epileptic.

"What's happening?" Alex asked, he and Theo staring at the ceiling with their mouths hanging open. When the lights finally stayed on, I gazed at Henry pointedly.

"Time to go," I said.

The two of them headed back to class as the bell rang. Henry and I joined the crowd heading to their classrooms. When we reached the blocked off area, Henry and I waited until the hall cleared out. Making sure no one was around; we slipped through the traffic cones and into basement access.

CHAPTER 27

**THE ACRID SMELL** of fire damage still clung heavily to the space beyond the door. We entered onto a small platform, with a burnt black circle in the center. Navigating around the burn mark, we began to go down the metal stairway.

The metallic tinks of our footsteps echoed as we descended farther into Hawthorne's belly. The area at the bottom of the stairs had existed for a long time, part of the old foundation. Where the top levels were pristine and beautiful, the rooms below ground were filthy and poorly lit, grime staining the drab gray walls.

"What are we looking for?" I asked Henry, resting my head on his shoulder without realizing I was doing it.

"Whatever it is that snake is hiding down here," Henry said. He pulled out his phone and lit the back light, casting a synthetic glow that illuminated the ugliness of our surroundings more. Barrels of some unknown substance were lined up together, covered in dust. Henry cracked the top of one barrel. Except for a nasty smell, it was empty.

Bags of garbage were piled by a flaming incinerator. It growled and hummed as flames crackled behind the grate. The nauseating, greasy smell of burning garbage was overpowering.

"This is disgusting," Henry groaned. As if to prove his point further, a trio of rats scurried along the wall. I jumped, while he remained in place.

"You think ghosts and creepy crawlies are lame. Does anything scare you?" I asked, checking the pulse in my neck.

"Of course," he said. "Just not the normal stuff. I guess I've immunized myself a little over the years. You seem to have, too," he added pointedly. "Not every girl would go charging after some bad guy in a dark basement."

"I'm not every girl," I muttered.

"I know." A smile played briefly on his lips, then disappeared as we kept on.

It was like a maze beneath Hawthorne, but we found our way. Leaking pipes ran along the ceiling, dripping murky water. Old gym equipment, broken dumbbells, and a ripped volleyball net were in one corner. I vaguely wondered how much of our classes we were ditching; if anyone would comment on us missing. If they would notice if we never came back.

We reached an open doorway marked 'electrical.' Henry slipped in first and I followed behind him. Numerous black electrical boxes hummed gently, black wires snaking up the walls like vines.

"I can't tell if this is normal or not," Henry said. "This looks like some Frankenstein rigging."

"I don't think it's safe for us to be in here," I said, as I watched one box let off a flash of sparks.

Back outside, he regarded me, clasping his hand in mine. "Should we go back?"

"Not yet."

We agreed to continue farther on into the foundation. It got dirtier and darker with every step. Noises up ahead made us pause. It sounded like someone struggling to drag a cumbersome object across the floor. Exchanging a look with me, he shut his phone and we made our way to a closed door, behind which the noise was coming from.

Henry jiggled the handle. "Locked."

"What do we do— "

I was cut off as Henry pulled out his wallet, retrieved his Visa and slid it into the slit between the door and the frame. The lock popped easily.

"How do you know how to do that?" I wondered aloud.

"I told you, everyone has secrets," Henry said.

Inside the room were rows of old supplies. They had probably been there for decades, judging by the worn letters printed on the containers. It looked mostly like pool equipment—buckets of old chlorine, hoses, broken floaters.

Walking behind a utility shelf, we peered through the gap and saw the source of the noise. A man was standing alone beside a large bucket, the strong smell of undiluted bleach wafting out. Two filthy sleeping bags were rolled up next to him. To my horror, I noticed human hair spilling out of them, and I had to jam my fist into my mouth to stop from screaming.

The man turned and we caught a glimpse of his face. It was Mr. Warwick.

Warwick began scrubbing the cement floor furiously, his mouth pulled back in a nervous grimace. His shirt was undone, poochy stomach hanging out, a ruffle of gray chest hair exposed. The high ceiling of the chamber amplified the slightest sound, his throaty breathing echoing.

"Dirty girls, dirty work," he babbled. "Dirty, dirty..."

"We need to get out of here," I whispered.

Henry's fingers were busy, fumbling over his keypad. "I'm telling Alex to call the police," he whispered back. He almost dropped the phone and clutched it tighter.

"Who's there?" Warwick called out. Henry and I froze, peering back through the gap.

Warwick stood up, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows. A gritty sponge dripped dirty water from his hand.

"I know someone is there. I heard you. Watching me." His voice wavered. "Come out, come out and play."

"What do we do?" I whispered frantically. For once, Henry looked scared. The color washed out of his face, leaving his normally tanned skin looking sick. His fear worried me most of all.

Warwick started advancing to where we were, hiding behind the flimsy shelving.

"Just let me think for a second," Henry whispered, squeezing his eyes shut.

"We don't have a second!" I hissed through gritted teeth. I looked around the area we were semi-concealed in. A stack of rolled up tarps in a tall wire bin sat diagonally to us.

It was only a matter of moments before Warwick reached us. Chlorine stung my nose as I breathed rapidly. It was either behind the tarps or nothing, as I couldn't see anywhere else the two of us could even attempt to hide.

"Over there," I mouthed, and ran and dove behind the bin. Henry followed, and we shimmied into the narrow space, sitting up against the wall.

"I'm going to find you," Warwick called out. "I know you saw me. And the girls. Sorry to say that means I'm going to have to shut you up. For the greater good."

Through the tarps, we watched as he reached into his pants pocket and retrieved a small gun, which glimmered in the faint, grimy light. My stomach dropped and I swallowed hard. It looked like a toy, but I wasn't that naive.

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my chin down towards my hammering heart. I would never have imagined Warwick being anything but kind. He was the person who performed magic tricks with decks of cards and pulled quarters out of my ear. I remembered the creepy way he'd looked at me during his attempted heart-to-heart, my urge to get away.

Warwick passed the stack of tarps that protected us. He kept talking conversationally, as if he were lecturing us on Abraham Lincoln instead of being caught trying to hide a couple of rotting corpses.

"The girls won't tell anyone. They're dead. Funny thing about being dead. It makes it so you can't tattle." He continued to stalk the area, peeking into shelves and around items, and out the door.

"I think he's in the other room," I whispered after a few seconds, my voice shaking so much I could barely articulate the words.

"Alex should have called the cops by now," Henry said.

"If he checked his phone. Maybe he didn't get a chance in class."

"He always checks his phone," Henry argued. "Otherwise, how do we get out of here?"

"I don't know," I said, my mind racing with possibilities, all tumbling over one another so I couldn't separate them into a coherent plan.

"We should just wait," Henry said.

"No. If we wait, we die. I'll go look and see if there's a way out," I said firmly. I started to slide back out against the wall.

"Are you nuts?" he asked, pulling the sleeve of my shirt, so hard that it ripped. His eyes were wild, pupils enlarged. "He'll kill you, Ariel!"

"Doing something is a better option than us staying here and waiting like sitting ducks to be killed." I yanked my sleeve out of his grasp. "And besides, he's my dad's best friend. He won't kill me. The police are on their way, but who knows how long it will take for them to get to us?"

Bravely or stupidly—maybe a mix of both, I crept out and around the bin and to my feet, leaving Henry protesting behind me.

I crept down the row of crowded pool supplies, looking back and forth. I tried everything I could to squash the fear rising in my chest. Panic would only make things worse. I'd seen Warwick go through the door ahead of me, but I didn't know where he had gone, or how much time I had. I couldn't see any other doorways. If only there was a window or a vent shaft...

"Gotcha!" Warwick said, catching me by my hair as I shrieked. He had been hiding in a shallow space between two stacks of bromine buckets. My eyes bugged out as my vision shook, every cell inside me screaming. I'd walked right into his trap.

"I should have known," he said, shaking his head and laughing grotesquely. "Daddy's little girl."

"You're Hugh's friend," I said, my breath hitching in my chest. My scalp stung as he continued to yank at the roots of my hair. It felt like he was pulling clumps out. "Doesn't that matter? I thought you cared about me."

A horrible, twisted grimace distorted his face, his eyes impossibly wide and ancient at the same time. He had morphed into a monster.

" _Friend?_ I'm only keeping up appearances. He's on the other side in this. There are no friends, when the Master comes to earth. Hell is closer than you think, Ariel."

He raised the gun with his free hand, pointing it at my nose as I sputtered nonsense.

"You're not going to shoot me," I said, babbling uncontrollably. "You wouldn't do that. You just had dinner at my house, you were watching movies with my parents. No, you wouldn't..."

He tugged my hair harder, making me squeal.

"Are you so sure about that? Because this looks like a gun in my hand. And I don't think anyone would miss you too badly. You're always just sitting there, coasting through life like it owes you one. Well, think of this as your just reward."

He had lost his mind. And now I was going to die for it.

"I will have a seat on the throne when that day comes," Warwick said, cocking the gun and readying his finger on the trigger. "He promised me a seat."

"Don't shoot her!" Henry shouted from behind me. I didn't dare chance a glance over my shoulder, but I knew that he had emerged from the hiding place. Any relief I felt was replaced by fear for his safety. Why did I have to set such a stupid example?

"Sorry, bud," Warwick said, extremely amused. He pointed the gun at Henry, however, and I chanced a glance behind me. All the blood had fled Henry's face, leaving him white-pale and sweaty. He was standing with both hands fisted into lumps at his side, no weapon in sight.

"Shoot me instead," Henry said, but his wavering voice betrayed his bravery—he could barely speak. "Direct your bloodlust my way."

"That just won't do," Warwick said. "But I will shoot you in a second, after you watch her die."

Warwick thrust the gun back in my direction. I squeaked. The black barrel stared at me like a dead eye. "That's the epitome of true love. The stuff of all the choke-you-up songs. Too bad love is always a lie. I'm glad you're not begging for your life..."

"Drop it!" commanded a voice to my right, as another gun slid into view and pressed against Warwick's temple. "You don't want to die today."

I don't want to die today.

Warwick dropped both his gun and me. I fell to the floor, my arms flailing above me as I tumbled. My feet scrambled for purchase but found nothing. I fell with a heavy thud onto the hard ground, feeling my body instantly bruise. The roots of my hair still stung.

I saw four policemen standing behind my would-be murderer. Warwick looked at them, his hands raised in surrender, and attempted a smile.

"Gentlemen!" he said cheerfully. "You interrupted us. I was just informing her..."

"Shut your mouth," said one of the officers sternly. He spun Warwick around forcefully and grasped his wrists, hooking handcuffs over them.

Another officer came over and knelt beside me. "Are you all right, miss?" he asked.

I couldn't catch my breath. All I could see was the barrel of the gun, the intended bullet forcing its way through my skull to destroy my brain. My finger reached out and pointed to the area where the girls' bodies were wrapped up.

"Aw, no," the man muttered under his breath, and went over to the sleeping bags. "Mike, come over and look at this."

I lifted myself up numbly, and wandered beside them. Someone followed me, but I didn't pay attention to whom. The room was suddenly full of men in uniforms, and I didn't even know if they'd taken Warwick away yet. Was he gone?

"You need to stay back," the second officer said.

"My friend...my friend Jenna," I stuttered, aware that my face was twitching and I would probably have a nervous breakdown any moment. "I need to know if it's her. If she's dead. Please."

I watched as they slowly unzipped both sleeping bags, even though my stomach rolled and I wanted to run, to see anything but the shriveled bodies in front of me.

Alyssa was still wearing her blue raincoat, even though her flesh was mostly gone, revealing a smiling skull beneath. Susan was still wearing her dirty party dress, in almost as advanced a state of decay. Beside the filthy sleeping bags, a purplish blur of soap remained on the concrete from where Warwick had been scrubbing.

Strong hands grasped my shoulders, and I turned around, not knowing who to expect. Henry stood there, his hair for once a genuine mess, his face blotchy with tears. I fell into his arms with a gasp of relief and he hugged me tightly. I just wanted to disappear inside of him and pretend the world had stopped. Tears rolled off of his cheeks and pattered the top of my hair.

"This is too much," he said softly. "This is too much. I didn't know. Are you okay?"

I didn't feel okay. I didn't feel anything at all. "I'm alive," was all I could say.

###

The period of time that unfolded next was a blur. Questions, more questions. I had to repeat the same information over and over to different people—why we had been in the basement, how we'd found our way to the pool room. Apparently, it had taken the police twenty minutes to navigate their way to us.

Time had lost all sense of meaning. I saw the basement around me, and then I was up in the teacher's lounge. I didn't know how long I'd been there, I just realized that I was sitting at their table, staring at the vending machines. I kept thinking I heard Warwick's voice, far away but distinct. Yet when I listened harder, there was no one speaking.

Henry was next to me, as he had been the whole time, rubbing my back, my shoulders. His hands hadn't left my body. It seemed like it should be nighttime, but school bells still rang faintly in the halls at steady intervals.

"How long have we been here?" I asked Henry.

His eyes darted to the clock on the wall. "Not as long as you think."

I stood up, stretching my compacted legs. At the counter, I poured a cup of disgustingly strong coffee from the pot. I felt cold inside, and the heat helped as I gulped it down, tasting its burnt flavor. I realized as I sat again that this was not my first cup today.

"You need to slow down or your heart is gonna explode from the caffeine buzz," Henry said, putting his hand over the cup and moving it away.

The door opened, and I expected another police officer. A tall, well-dressed man strode into the room, clutching a tan briefcase. Henry's eyes widened, as though he'd seen a terrorist.

"Is that another cop?" I asked wearily.

"That's my father," Henry said. I studied the man closer now, shocked.

"I just heard," Phillip Rhodes said in a robust voice. His facial features were quite a bit like Henry's: the same nose, the same full mouth. But I could tell he had a different type of personality. Phillip seemed aloof and sly, definitely fitting the lawyer image.

"So you rushed over here," Henry mumbled. He'd suddenly gotten very quiet and withdrawn. He had snatched his hands back, and they were now in his lap.

"Of course I did. That pig Warwick, he was always a loose cannon. Let's get going, Henry."

Phillip's words seemed strange. I wasn't aware he'd known Warwick. They didn't seem to be the type to run in the same circles. Hell's neighborly ways again, I supposed. Henry started to stand, and I jumped up too, taking a cue from Theo and extending my hand to Phillip.

"I'm Ariel Donovan," I said, my voice too peppy due to the coffee and the giddy stress of almost being shot. "Nice to finally meet you."

Phillip smiled politely at me, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Yes. I've heard about you. Good to know that you two are all right."

"It's also good to put a face to Henry's Lexus chauffeur," I joked, but it came off flatly. Phillip's smile tightened. He put his brawny hand, the fingers clad in gold bands, on Henry's shoulder.

"Tell your little friend goodbye, son."

"Yes, sir," Henry said, his eyes cast downward. I wanted to ask him what was wrong, but in light of the situation, this was probably just how Henry dealt. "Goodbye, Ariel."

Phillip led him away out the door. I wanted to reach out to Henry; I wanted to keep him with me. I was suddenly frantic, but there was nothing I could do. _I've lost him,_ I thought, as I had early on when I'd seen him surrounded by popular kids. But he was only going home.

Yeah, and Jenna was supposed to be back before midnight.

He disappeared out the door, with one final, sad look in my direction.

CHAPTER 28

**MY PARENTS ARRIVED** just minutes after Phillip and Henry departed, so soon that they must have passed each other in the hall. I warned them that I'd had about twelve cups of coffee, but they didn't react.

They took turns throwing their arms around me and sobbing into my hair. I wanted to ask them to stop doing it, but I didn't want to come off as rude. If my kid had almost been shot, I would have wanted to hug her, too.

I rode home in the backseat. Claire kept glancing back at me, thinking I didn't notice. Hugh was crying silently, sniffling and wiping the tears away with the back of his hand. I couldn't take that, the sight of my father in tears. I shut my eyes.

The coffee must have been decaf. I'd never been so tired or detached in my life. When we got home, no one wanted to cook anything, and no one wanted to eat. Bed came early, and I fell into a dead sleep.

School shut down for a week, to help assist in the police investigation. McPherson appeared on a news conference, looking very surprised that all of this had happened while he was away. Various theories were expounded over why and how Warwick had done it. My theory was that he'd lost his marbles. All of his final rambling had led me to believe he'd been dabbling in the occult in his free time. The police seemed to agree.

But how did McPherson fit? I couldn't forget his strange meeting, the odd smell coming from the shed behind his house...yet he seemed to not be involved. He had been out of town, after all. So I tried not to think about him.

I didn't know what to do with all the time off. There was nothing to distract me from thinking. All of my usual pastimes were too intertwined with death.

There had been no sign of Jenna in that horrible basement. Just more confirmation that everyone had been right. She had abandoned me.

Although there was relief that she had apparently not been murdered, there was no sense of closure. If that made me selfish, than so be it. I checked my email every day, as automatically as brushing my teeth, hoping maybe she'd get a hold of me. No note ever came.

I pictured Jenna in gigantic designer knockoff sunglasses, a floppy hat over her curls, mugging for a camera. She could easily be residing in Las Vegas or Hollywood now.

Still questions lingered about my visions. Why had I seen her among the ghosts? Why had her eyes been black? Maybe the head trauma had made me hallucinate.

I sent texts to Henry, but he didn't reply. I tried calling him several times when my resolve broke down, but he sent me to voicemail. I thought back to the haunted look in his eyes when his father told him to tell me goodbye. But I was too drained to analyze his up and down evasiveness. Avoidance was how he dealt with being overwhelmed, just as I had done before. He would come to me when he was ready.

Theo visited almost every day. We had sleepovers in the living room, with me on the couch and Theo on the recliner beside me. I didn't have any dreams at all, scary or regular variety. Whether Theo's presence was what kept the dreams at bay, or whether the whole nightmare was finally over, I couldn't tell. We didn't talk much, but her company was welcome.

It was even stranger going back in school, as it had been the first day. Like sleepwalking. Having all that time off just made stepping inside more surreal. But I told myself that this could be a fresh start. Maybe things could get better now—maybe I could move on, instead of being obsessed by death.

I was walking to homeroom on Monday, lost in thought. My classmates had treated me with a kind of reverence so far, which made me uncomfortable. At first that disquiet masked another, deeper buried feeling. But then I shuddered. It was as though someone had walked over my grave. I had the strongest feeling that something was wrong.

I quickly, almost frantically, brushed it off. I stopped in the middle of the emptying hallway, my hands clutching my backpack straps. Everything was okay now, I assured myself.

I rounded the corner of the hall and stopped dead in my tracks.

At first, I didn't believe what my eyes were seeing. My brain didn't know how to process the elements of the picture, which seemed so out of place and wrong, like looking at torn pieces of a photograph.

Henry and Lainey were in the hall by her locker, talking intimately. Her hands grasped the lapels of his shirt. She squished herself so close to him a piece of paper wouldn't have slid between them.

As I stood there, mute with shock, she reached up and kissed him on the lips. I thought he'd push her away, rebuke her, spit on her even. But as my blood ran cold, I saw him reciprocate, the sickening look of his mouth moving. I could see her tongue poking past his lips, the lips I'd been obsessed with, suffered with want for, treasured every kiss from.

My throat ran dry, tasting betrayal. Lainey broke off the embrace, smiling brightly. Her beautiful, evil doll face was full of adoration and triumph. She waved him goodbye and then sauntered off to class, her golden hair swishing down her back.

I walked up to him, my legs barely able to support me. This was a sick joke. It had to be the sickest joke ever. After all that we'd been through, all that we'd seen...

"What the hell was that?" I demanded, shaking so hard I thought I would erupt. My vision kept doubling, and my cheeks burned hot.

He jumped, having not realized I was there. That hurt even worse. "Ariel..." he muttered, his face registering something like guilt before quickly smoothing out, like a wave over sand, into a flat bank. "What are you doing? Were you watching us?"

"Yeah, I saw you. And I want to know what you were doing."

He cleared his throat. His voice was monotone as he stared deeply into my eyes. "Lainey and I are together now, Ariel. I'm sorry. I know it's out of the blue. But it's for the best. It's a good match."

I felt all the blood flee my head for other destinations. I swayed on my feet, my arms loosening around my books. But I wouldn't give him the evident satisfaction of seeing me fall apart and faint.

"Who are you?" I spat acidly. "What is this?"

"I wanted to tell you before you saw," Henry said, running his hand through his stupid hair. "I didn't want you to find out this way."

"Why would you even care?" I asked. I was swaying, shaking more. It took everything I had not to lose my grip. But I could fall apart once he was out of sight.

"I should never have wormed my way into your life," he said bluntly. "You told me once that we lived in different worlds. You were right...we're not meant to be together."

"Where is this coming from?"

"I just woke up, that's all."

He turned and without a second glance, shuffled away from me. I couldn't look away from him until he had turned the corner.

The shaking brought me to my knees. Pressure in my chest became a hole. Henry had taken whatever I had left with him.

I thought I was alone. But then I heard a voice I never expected. "Well, wasn't that a heap of shit, little mermaid."

I turned around, and saw Ambrose Slaughter leaning up against the lockers. His mass of blonde curls glowed, his arms crossed tightly over his muscled chest. He had a cigarette in his hand, and he took a deep inhale, blowing a puff of white smoke directly at the security camera overhead.

Before I might have been afraid; after all, he had threatened me several times. But by his relaxed stance, I knew I was in no danger. And I was too numb to care about self-preservation.

"Are you talking to me?" I asked.

He ignored my question. "I never trusted him," he said, not making eye contact. He'd never spoke a word to me that wasn't laced with malice. "Not one bit. I know a scam artist when I see one; my dad is a great example."

"I did. I trusted him," I said quietly.

The bell rang, but I didn't move. I had half a mind to ditch altogether, run outside underneath the security cameras, now that I'd picked up on where the blind spots were from Henry and my snooping in the office.

Ambrose assessed me then, his jutting jaw and handsome features hard. He tucked the cigarette between his lips.

"That's your first mistake. Never trust people like us. It's dog eat dog, and leads to nothing but getting hurt. Especially for girls. You get too emotionally attached to people."

"You're just an expert on love now, huh?" I asked through gritted teeth. Though I was weirdly fascinated that he was speaking to me, I also wanted to slap him.

"Take it from me—don't fall in love so easily. I learned that the hard way. You have to cut that part right out of you." His fingers were scissors, cutting the air.

Inhaling one more time from his cigarette, he dropped it on the floor and stubbed it out with his dirty loafer. Then he strolled off down the hall, whistling.

I spent all of the next two periods in the bathroom. I couldn't cry, so it felt as though my face was going to explode. But I couldn't function, either. If I'd had to try and act normal, paying attention to the blackboard and answering questions, I would have collapsed.

When I finally did make it to class, I kept my eyes straight the entire time, and zoned out as much as possible. Theo had already heard about Lainey by the time that art class arrived. With permission from her mother, she took me down to the counseling office, where I sat in the waiting area with her until the final bell rang. She patted my back and made me color in one of a pile of coloring books on national landmarks.

"Coloring is soothing," Theo told me, pressing crayons into my hand.

I eyed her skeptically. "I can't stay inside the lines."

"You're missing the point," Theo said gently, putting her crayon tip on her own book. They were giving them out for free, and since it was a high school, there was a stack of them. "The point is not to care."

I didn't want to go to school the next day. But I also didn't want to give Lainey the satisfaction of seeing that I was missing. And I knew she was paying attention. She knew she'd won.

_I'm waking you up in the morning. Wear something sexay,_ Theo texted me that evening, banishing any plans I'd formed. _Jealousy is the best payback._

_I don't own anything sexy. I own t-shirts,_ I wrote back quickly.

Tight t-shirt. Several sizes too small. Shovel on the black eye shadow.

Any other time I would have laughed, and I appreciated greatly how much she was supporting me and trying to force me out of my funk. She had been the one with the smarts to tell me there were other handsome boys in school, not to get so hooked on Henry. If only I had listened to her advice, I would have skipped so much hurt, or so I tried to tell myself.

The truth was it would have hurt either way, with or without him.

"I can't believe I was so stupid," I told Theo in gym class. I was not, in fact, wearing an abnormally tight shirt.

"You weren't stupid. He was a good actor. I never would have guessed he was a jerk, he seemed like an okay dude."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"No, I mean it. But you can't always tell. Look at Alex."

"If that's your point prover, I don't think it's working."

"He's not so bad once you get to know him. But I never would have given him a chance if we weren't thrown together via weird circumstances."

"You mean my weird circumstances."

"Well, it's not every day your buddy asks you to chat with dead people. But that's what I love about you, Ariel. You're loopy. I'm loopy. We can be loopy together."

"Thanks. I am done with boys, forever. There is too much drama," I said. "When Henry is the ass, and I'm getting dating advice from Ambrose Slaughter, it is time to throw in the towel of romance."

"The towel of romance? That's a little gross," Theo said, trying to make me laugh. She had this horrible sympathetic look in her green eyes that spoiled the effect.

We were performing belly dancing to an instructional DVD while Coach Fletcher updated charts on the sidelines. Lainey looked so incredibly smug; it took everything I had not to track down a tennis ball.

It felt so surreal, like any moment the truth would reassert itself. I'd dreamed uncommonly vivid dreams before. But as time passed, the startling realization asserted itself that this was the truth.

"It is time for thirty cats," I said.

"I wouldn't go that far yet," Theo said, laughing gently. She rotated her hip in a circle, but she went a bit too far, wobbling and falling into me. I crashed onto my butt, with Theo right next to me, almost draped in my lap.

I exchanged a glance with her, and we couldn't help but burst out laughing simultaneously. The rest of the class turned their heads, looking at us like we'd lost our minds.

Lainey wrinkled her nose at me, and when Coach's back was turned, I flipped her off. She tossed her hair dramatically, but turned away. This only made Theo giggle more. Laughter was a release, of all the tension and the pain that had been festering in my belly the last week.

I didn't notice Nurse Callie come into the room. I was paying too much attention to our clumsiness. But I saw her now as she and Coach Fletcher came over to where Theo and I were helping each other to our feet. Coach's face was more serious than usual, which was saying something for someone so humorless.

"Ariel, I'm here to take you to the office," Nurse Callie said.

I looked between their faces. "Am I in trouble?" I asked, the humor instantly dying from my lips.

"No, honey," Callie said. She was very quiet. "Don't worry about changing. Just come with me."

I looked back at Theo, her frown mirroring my own. Everyone in class was still looking at us, the joyous belly dancer on the television unaware that she was dancing alone.

I walked with Nurse Callie to the office. It had already been a surreal nightmare of a week, and it was only Tuesday. How could anything else go wrong? The universe couldn't be that unfair.

Hugh and Claire were standing in front of the reception desk when Callie and I arrived.

"Everyone looks so serious," I said, trying to break the ice. They just looked at me solemnly.

"What are you doing out of work, mom? Did something happen?" She didn't correct me calling her that. This couldn't be good. My parents looked at each other, at Callie. No one was telling me anything, and fear began to creep up on me.

"Tell me what it is," I said, panic rushing upwards inside my chest.

But some part of me knew.

I had known the words were coming all along.

"They found Jenna," Hugh said, his voice cracking. It struck me as funny. She'd always driven him nuts. "She's dead."

The entire world shrunk down to the badly lit office. Everything I'd done and every word I'd said in the last few months. A distracting prickle hit the back of my eyes. I wiped off my cheek, and my hand glistened.

I was crying.

EPILOGUE

**I COULDN'T GET** my seatbelt to buckle. I kept fumbling with the metal clip, thinking it was sliding home, only to realize I'd missed the slot. I finally abandoned my effort. If I flew through the windshield, that would be that. A rain of glass, a rich splash of blood. The crack of my head against the pavement like an egg. Goodbye Ariel, everybody dies.

It had taken ten minutes for me to stop crying. I knew if I even thought about the fact that I _had_ cried for that long, the sobbing would begin anew. I was hovering in a fog, looking out at the unreal world. Snow covered the ground, making the world gray and dead, with no divide between the sky and the terrain.

Hugh and Claire took me to a restaurant, like a special occasion. Hugh forced a menu in front of me. I felt plastered to the booth, having lost the urges to eat or go to the bathroom. I stared at the same menu for what felt like forever, but none of the words or pictures made any sense. The food all looked as though it was made out of rubber.

"The funeral is tomorrow," Claire said gravely.

I had no idea what she was talking about. I was busy looking at a shiny, shiny photo of a hamburger. Play food. Not for human consumption. My mind made a grisly comparison between the ground beef and Jenna.

A plate of food was suddenly in front of me, indicating time had passed. One of my parents must have ordered for me. I had no desire to pick up the fork.

"How did she die?" I asked finally. My voice sounded alarmingly flat.

Hugh and Claire looked at each other, their familiar puppy dog eyes routine.

"Stop doing that!" I burst. "I hate it when you do that, looking at each other like 'what should we say to this kid.'" I sounded angry, but I didn't feel anything except the hole in my heart. They looked taken aback, as though I might self-destruct.

"They think she drowned—" Hugh began.

Claire cut him off. "Hugh, please, I don't think—"

"She wants to know. She'll find out anyway. Better she hears it from us."

Still talking as if I wasn't there, as if I was just an inanimate object or a plant. A cactus, something that didn't even need tending. Claire shut her mouth, but her eyes bulged with worry about letting the little girl in on the secrets of the bad world.

"Drowned," I repeated. "Like water in the lungs. Sucking in the sea."

"Yes," Hugh said, his voice quiet. He cleared his throat and came back stronger. "A couple of guys were testing out the ice for fishing in the middle of Hush Lake. It froze up pretty good around the rim, but the center was still soft and dangerous. They put their hooks in and..."

"She doesn't need a visual," Claire snapped, clearly uncomfortable. Little iridescent beads of sweat peeked out from beneath her hairline. She hadn't touched her food either, and it reminded me of the birthday cake that only Hugh had eaten.

"And they found her underneath the ice," Hugh finished.

"When?" I asked gruffly, staring at him. My hands twisted my napkin, jerking it back and forth.

"A few days ago. They had to check the dental records because she had decomposed, being in the water like that—"

"Oh my god," Claire hissed. She bolted to her feet, tossing her napkin on the table, and rushed away. She was going to throw up, I could tell by the green flush on her face. Hugh looked embarrassed. I didn't blame him—he had the same wild imagination as me. He didn't find humor or excitement in the details, he just couldn't help but see them.

"Sorry, kiddo," he said sadly.

"It's not your fault. It's just what happened."

"I'm sorry for all of it, though. You're too young to live through this."

I had no comfort to offer him, and with what he'd gone through with Warwick, he didn't have much for me either. So we sat in silence, staring at the food that we wouldn't eat, destined to decompose in styrofoam boxes, unwanted.

###

That night, all I could see when I closed my eyes was Jenna drowning. She floundered in the water, thrusting her arms up but catching no relief. Arms reaching for me, she screamed for help as water flooded her mouth. But I couldn't even touch her.

I cried even in my sleep, tears stinging the skin around my eyes. The world was tinted blue and gray when I awoke. It wasn't a vision or a ghost doing it—it was my own mind.

A selfish thought kept chasing me, no matter how hard I tried to stop it. I wanted Henry there. I wanted to wrap myself in his arms and put my head on his chest and be safe again. That only made the tears come harder and harder. That safety was gone, and had never been real to begin with.

I woke up with my face sticky and red, my eyes puffy with salt. I could almost feel the grimy lake water in my own lungs, the smell of lake weeds clinging to my hair beneath the fruity layer of shampoo, gagging me.

###

Theo accompanied me to the visitation. She was dressed entirely in black, and I'd never before seen her fully devoid of makeup or glitter.

"I'm sorry I don't have much to say," I told her in a voice so small I didn't think she'd hear.

"Ariel, please," she said, grasping both of my hands in hers. "I'm here for you. I don't need anything from you."

I wanted to be grateful, and deep down I'm sure I was. But I still felt nothing, a vast swirling hollow inside of me sucking up every speck like a black hole. I finally knew the meaning of dead on the inside.

I was preoccupied with the idea that Madison and Lainey might show up at the funeral. I kept bringing up the paranoid thought to Theo and my parents, who assured me that wouldn't happen.

At the funeral home, a majestic white building with Grecian columns and pots with fake ivy spilling out, we walked up the steps and directly to the funeral room. Her room, with her body. I refused to think of her as the body. She was still Jenna, even if all that was left was her abandoned shell.

I walked over to the casket; it was closed. The word decomposition flitted through my head. There were lilies in vases all over the room, making it smell sweet, too sweet. Jenna had wanted to be cremated, her ashes scattered in the ocean. Why did I know that and no one else?

"That's the only way I'll ever get there. Then I can live in the water forever," she'd told me dramatically. I think we were ten at the time. She'd been clutching a seashell her grandmother had brought her up again her eye, twisting it back and forth like a kaleidoscope. But she'd never made it to the ocean.

###

It snowed all night, and I watched it out the windows. Hugh and Claire spoke in soft voices around me so I could pretend they weren't even there. They went up to their room early, leaving me alone on the couch with Grandma Eleanor's afghan slung on my shoulders. A mug of hot cocoa went cold in front of me.

At eight PM on the dot, my ringtone went off. I whipped my head around, watching my phone jerk and flicker on the coffee table. The number came up as unavailable, but I had the strongest feeling that it was Henry. The thought filled me with hope and dread and horror at my old obsession. I had to stop myself from smashing the phone against the wall.

The caller didn't leave a message.

I stood up again and went to the back door, watching the snowstorm outside. It was beginning to get quite high, at least six inches having fallen over what was already there. I rubbed my hands over my arms. Even though I'd thrown a sweater over my turtleneck, I was still freezing.

The thought hit me instantly, like a lightning bolt. I didn't want to see the dead anymore; I didn't even want to know why I had in the first place. There had to be others like me—let them handle the visions and weird sounds and hands reaching from beyond the grave. I'd done my part; I'd helped the girls. Let me be. I didn't want to know what lurked out in the shadows.

I didn't think I'd ever fall asleep, but as soon as I laid down, I was plunged into oblivion. And there I stayed as the months passed by, never fully waking, waiting for a spark.

###

"Why won't she let me in?" Jenna said, pacing back and forth in front of Ariel's basement doors. "I wasn't gone for that long."

But part of her knew that wasn't true. She'd been here for a while now, waiting, watching. The things creeping around in the shadows were getting closer. And the sun wasn't coming up. She could feel the dark seeping into her pores, filling all the spaces inside where the blood should have been.

"Please, Ariel," Jenna pleaded with the air, banging on the door again. The only sound she could hear was the rhythmic pounding of her fists.

THUD. THUD THUD. THUD.

About the Author

Abigail Boyd began writing stories as a kid on dark and stormy nights. She was born and still lives in Michigan with her husband and the haunting cries of three rambunctious children. Her influences include Stephen King, Veronica Mars, and lots of processed sugar. She wishes that time had a pause button.

_Gravity_ is the first book in the four part Gravity Series. The sequels _Uncertainty_ and _Luminosity_ are out now, and the final book will be released in 2013. For more information, feel free to contact me or visit me online.

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**Email:**  abigailaboyd@gmail.com

This edition uploaded 3-31-13

Read an excerpt from

Katherine Pine's

AFTER EDEN (FALLEN ANGELS #1)
Prologue

The two of us used to reenact The Snow Queen in the woods behind our house. We'd begin by lying on the lawn, and his cool fingers would squeeze my hand until my eyelids grew heavy and my breathing slowed. Then he would let go.

"Where are you going?" I'd call out as I grabbed his ankles, causing him to stumble when he tried to stand.

"Stop," he'd tell me. "I don't love you anymore. I love my queen." He didn't want to say such things, he didn't even like the game, but I loved it and so he indulged me.

After that he would run into the woods. I would count to ten, and then go find him.

Once I found him in a pile of autumn leaves. He'd hidden in the tall branches of the old oak, and then fallen and skinned his knee. He didn't cry, he never cried, but I did.

Sniffling, I rolled up his pant leg and picked up a yellow oak leaf from the forest floor. It wasn't medicine, we both knew that, but still my brother let me rub it on his skin. "You found me," he said.

"I will always find you," I promised, and my little heart meant every word. It loved him more than it could stand, and so it could not conceive of a world where those words wouldn't be true.

"I love you, Devi," he said. I wanted him to call me Greta. Greta was the girl from The Snow Queen. She was the brother of Kai, the boy in the fairy tale who shared my own brother's name.

Things would have turned out differently if my name really had been Greta. She was the bringer of spring. She could suffer the winter and melt the ice around her brother's heart. She would find Kai regardless of where he'd gone or who'd taken him.

But I'd been named Devi, and so after he was stolen I couldn't find him, no matter how hard I tried.

Chapter 1

No other girl under the age of 18 would be caught dead outside Morrison's after 5pm, especially when the sky looked like a backdrop from the opening scene of a hardboiled mystery. The used bookstore's turquoise and mustard yellow exterior had always reminded me of my grandmother's psychedelic kitchen, and so conjured memories of unconditional love, burnt cookies and salmonella poisoning. Maybe that's why I chose to spend Friday nights shuffling through the sale books on the outdoor rack instead of getting ready to hit the clubs or crash a party on the East side.

Unfortunately all they had out were the usual suspects--science fiction novels featuring giant reptiles shooting lightning from their bloodshot eyes, techno-thrillers, and old school romances a la Lilac Lovelace's magnum opus Sweet Savage Sentiments. I skimmed a few chapters before closing it with savage disappointment.

You won't find him here.

My fingers trembled, suddenly aware of the cold air, and the trashy book almost fell from them. That voice was so lonely and quiet--the voice of a child. I stumbled back. Don't do this, I commanded, but I'd already shut my eyes, gone completely still, and made my breath as quiet as possible.

I listened for that voice to return. Only the sound of tires, the dull, throbbing beat from the strip club across the street, and my own internal silence responded.

He wasn't there. It was just my mind playing tricks. I shut my eyes and stood. Don't look, I told myself as my heartbeat raced. I just needed to keep my face forward, to bury myself in the pages of a book, any book. I couldn't--

I glanced over my shoulder. Above the line of skyscrapers I could just barely make out the gray silhouette of the West hills. My house was hidden up there, behind the cedars, firs, and gnarled limbs of deciduous trees. Part of me longed to go home, drop my backpack by the front door, and curl up under the quilt on my bed to wait for sleep. But I couldn't go home. Not yet. Night wouldn't come for another few hours.

I looked away from the forested heights and returned my attention to the neon-lit heart of the city. The days were getting shorter, I reminded myself. Soon I'd be able to wander past that spot on the bluff where he'd disappeared without seeing every detail of the oak, the crumbling wooden gate, and the wide expanse of gray buildings far below. I'd still know those things existed in the dark, of course, but at least the images wouldn't seduce my mind into playing that memory over and over--the one of my twin brother being taken by the man in white.

I wiped my sleeve across my eyes. Thinking about it shouldn't have affected me this much after so many years, or at least that's what everyone kept telling me.

A gust of freezing wind blew at my back. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared into Marilyn Monroe's carefree smile. Ever since I was a kid the front window had featured that famous poster of her standing above the vent, pushing that little white dress over her legs. She looked warm and dry--I was kind of jealous.

The wind roared again. Marilyn's face didn't change but her dress seemed to twirl, perhaps due to the shadow of the twirling poppet nailed from a string on the overhang.

Wait, what?

I blinked. Alright, I hadn't just imagined it. A black doll no bigger than my hand danced in the breeze. Three pins stuck out of its chest, and pasted on its back were two feathers--one red, one white.

I suppressed a chill. That had to be new. Either that or someone was playing a joke on the pudgy, aging clerk; I doubted someone who wore freshly ironed polo shirts with little animals embroidered below the collar was into that sort of thing. Then again, whoever owned the place seemed to collect oddities. There was a dream catcher above the register, and the door to the storage room had been replaced by long strands of glow in the dark beads.

I rested my hand on the doorknob, debating whether or not to go inside. They probably wanted to close early. The only customers they'd get on a day like this were lunatics--well, lunatics and hopeless romantics with a fetish for the smell of dusty old books, which in their eyes probably amounted to the same thing.

My grip on the doorknob tightened. They hadn't officially closed yet. A light still glowed from the back of the store and no one had flipped around that illegible, handwritten sign in the window I'd always assumed said "We're Open."

I glanced down at the florid pink book I still held and decided to check their romance section before I left. They had to have something better than Sweet Savage Sentiments.

Right as the thought entered my mind something hot built up in my throat, increasing in pressure until I could scarcely breathe.

Panic seized my chest. I tried to grip the doorknob but I couldn't feel the cool metal beneath my fingertips anymore. Not now, I pleaded. It was always my first thought when the headaches started. My head pulsated as if my blood was trying to pump out of my skin. God, why did this have to happen--and so randomly, too? I was going to collapse. I had to get out of there before I passed out on the street. Already the gray, fall sky was blurring into the sidewalk. My palms hit my temple, slick with perspiration. Maybe the clerk inside...

Too late . I fell into the door and the bell above it jingled, signaling a visitor. No, signaling me, gasping for breath and flopping around on the pavement like a fish. If it didn't hurt so bad I would've laughed.

Two boots appeared in front of my face, so close I could feel the leather on the tip of my nose. A hand gripped my shoulder and a voice said something, maybe. Then everything faded.

***

Someone was trying to pound my chest into submission. Okay, okay, I conceded. But whatever was above me couldn't read my mind. Instead of stopping, it dragged something sharp across my collarbone.

Damn that stings . I placed my hand over the scratch and opened my eyes.

My long, black hair was plastered to my face. In between the strands I saw two slanted, yellow eyes staring back. I sucked in a breath as the mass of fur meowed and catapulted forward, pushing its wet nose into my chin.

"You're finally up. Are you feeling better?" A man's voice. It sounded contemplative and primal, as if someone were whispering a lament over a dying fire. Or perhaps it only seemed so enigmatic because I was half awake.

"I hope you're not allergic to cats," he continued.

Clack . Something was placed beside me. I rolled my head to the side. My temples still pounded lightly and my vision was still blurry. The fact that I was being attacked by kitty kisses probably didn't help.

"Not allergic." I sniffed the mug on the table and grimaced. "Hate coffee," I muttered.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a hand reach down to grip the mug and cringed, this time from pure shame. I wanted to explain that I wasn't normally that selfish, but my tongue refused to move.

Luckily he just chuckled. "Be right back." His footsteps grew distant and then inaudible, leaving me alone with the sound of the cat's rhythmic purring.

I rubbed its sleek coat as my vision cleared. Dim light spilled over the walls from over a dozen candles. The way they were spaced around the room in a circle reminded me of a séance, but that's where the similarities between this storage space and a midnight ritual ended. Instead of being sprawled across an altar dressed in something sheer and white, I was underneath a woolen blanket on a faded pink couch that smelled of coffee and dust. Bookcases lined the walls from floor to ceiling, and even more books were stacked in tall, uneven piles throughout the room.

Plus the cat that lapped at my fingers was orange and gray, not black.

The footsteps returned from behind. "Here's some water." A hand set down another mug and gave the cat an affectionate pat on the head. "Looks like I'm condemned to be eternally bossed around by temperamental women."

Before I could respond or turn to face him, the owner of the voice walked to the leather armchair in front of me and sat.

I stopped breathing. The man--no, not a man, for he couldn't have been more than a few years older than me--was beautiful in that indie musician or starving poet kind of way. He wasn't very tall, but long, lean muscles filled out every inch of his frame. His hair wasn't long enough to hide the silver stud in his left ear, but it still covered most of his angular face. On his left forearm was a tattoo of a goat inside a triangular design, and on his right a tattoo of a Chinese-style dragon that seemed to dance over his skin when he moved.

His eyes watched me, unblinking. They were dark and green, like the forest in late spring after a rain. They somehow seemed as vast and deep as the woods as well; I felt as if I could step into them and disappear.

"Where am I?" I asked too softly, as if I didn't want him to hear.

"In the back of Morrison's." He turned the book he'd been holding over. "You seem to have fainted while reading this," he said and raised it up.

No, this couldn't be happening. My cheeks turned as pink as the cover when he cracked open Sweet Savage Sentiments and began flipping through the pages.

He grinned when I gave no verbal response. "Was it really that good?"

A lump formed in my throat. This incredibly cute guy could not be reading that book in front of me. I would have dared him to read that book if it had been something by Laura Kinsale or Julia Quinn. But Sweet Savage Sentiments? With all that throbbing and trembling, and the countless engorged members...

Oh God, I had to get it back.

I sat up. The cat slid down my chest and into my lap, but continued to knead as if it hadn't been interrupted. "Before you read any more I just want you to know that I didn't really like it." I said, and almost winced at how defensive my tone sounded. "I mean, I do like romance novels, but that particular one didn't do it for me."

He put down the book and rested his chin in his left hand. "Which ones do it for you, then?"

My chest began to heave. The cat thought that was great fun and began kneading my legs with more vigor, but the rapid clawing didn't even faze me. How was I supposed to answer a question like that? And how could I have set such an obvious trap for myself? "You're enjoying this way too much," I replied, trying to change the subject.

He brushed his thumb over the book's hot pink spine. I shivered. "Am I the only one..." he lowered his voice and leaned forward "...enjoying it?"

I couldn't take it anymore. I gripped my hands into compact, deadly fists, grit my teeth, looked him in the eyes...

And laughed right in his face.

He leaned back with a bemused expression. "I didn't expect that response."

I choked on the air. "What did you expect, exactly?" I wheezed.

It took a moment for him to answer. "I don't know. Something saucier, I suppose."

I shook my head and stretched out my hand. "Something tells me you've had enough 'sauce' in your life. Now please give me back my book."

He raised a brow. "But it's not your book."

"Well, I was going to buy it," I replied smugly. It seemed like a harmless lie at the moment.

It wasn't.

"So you weren't going to put it back, then? Sweet Savage Sentiments does actually do it for you?"

I took a deep breath. I wasn't going to let him fluster me that easily...again. "For 35 cents it most certainly does. Especially if it prevents a misunderstanding."

"I just raised the price." He grinned and held the book above his head as if I would try to jump for it. To my mortification I realized for a second that I had considered doing just that.

I actually huffed. "Do not make me result to underhanded measures."

It was the wrong thing to say. He gave me a devastating smile. "Oh, I definitely wouldn't mind."

My breath caught in my chest. Misunderstood artsy types weren't supposed to smile like that. They were supposed to glance at others condescendingly and ooze sarcastic witticisms. I felt like this guy was going to wiggle his eyebrows and ask me to "wrassle."

If he had I might've even taken him up on it.

I looked down, suddenly uncomfortable with being in such a small space with a man I didn't know. Even if he did work at Morrison's. Even if he did have a soothing voice and just one look at him made me go weak in the knees.

Actually, especially because of all those things.

Hiss .

My torso tensed. I glanced left just in time to see a fly soar into the candle on the stool next to me.

The inside of its abdomen glowed like embers, then burst, feeding the flames as if it were an oil-soaked wick. Heat spread across my cheeks from either the fire, or my blood, I wasn't sure. My throat went dry as that small, fragile body disintegrated.

Then the flame returned to its normal, subdued dance, as if nothing had happened.

My arms tightened around the cat. A sickening image seeped into my mind--of it leaping from me and burning to ash before I could react. In return, the kitty purred and licked my fingertips, but that gesture gave me little comfort. I couldn't forget that almost soundless, pointless death. Hypnotically, I stared into the flames and wondered why they still seemed so beautiful.

"You haven't had any water," the man said slowly, breaking the spell.

I nodded and reached for the glass. My trembling fingers almost knocked it over, but on my third try I got a good grip and took a sip. It tasted a bit metallic, but familiar. I shut my eyes.

"Did that bother you?"

I knew exactly what he was talking about--the fly. I nodded and tucked my chin into my chest, wondering why he'd asked. Obviously I'd been upset. In fact, I still was.

"Why?"

I set down the cup. Why did my throat still feel so dry even after that sip of water? Why did he ask that question when I was obviously upset by it?

"I've never understood it," he began. "When people do it, we glorify them, and yet when an animal does it, or a creature even more insignificant, like a fly, we either laugh at their stupidity or feel pity because we believe their sacrifice to be pointless."

"Do what?" I asked with a hoarse voice.

"A man killing himself in the pursuit of his dreams is no different than a moth flying into a flame. Like Kurt Cobain, Elliott Smith, or..." he picked up a complete volume of Keats' letters beside his seat, "insert-your-favorite-Romantic-poet-here."

"Keats is one of my favorites," I said absently.

"Mine too." He looked down. His voice sounded distant then, as if a millennium of sorrow were contained in those two words--just as a Romantic poet can transcribe years of tragedy in a single phrase or stanza. Then he continued: "It's inconsistent, don't you think? We should either reduce humanity to the level of the insect when it comes to heroic or romantic yearnings, or ennoble the fly."

He glanced up from the candle, back at me. I couldn't read his expression. His eyes were guarded, or at least they seemed so behind his dark hair. They captured the image of the fire like a mirror--a reflection of a gold and red dancing on the surface of a green pool.

His finger slid over his bottom lip. I couldn't tear my gaze from the fluid movement. There was something conspiratorial about it, as if he were about to impart a secret of great importance.

"Do you want to get something to eat?" He asked.

My heartbeat hammered in my neck. My limbs froze. The kitty noticed the change in my demeanor immediately. She stood and started rubbing her head against my stomach with a vengeance. "What?" I croaked, suddenly tongue-tied as the cat's tail tickled my chin.

"I wouldn't feel right letting you stumble home after my merchandise caused you to collapse on my doorstep. I need to make sure you're safe."

Oh, that was it. He thought I might sue him or the place--he wasn't asking me out or anything. I leaned back. "Don't worry about it. It's not actually your doorstep."

"Yes it is. I own the place."

I raised one of my brows. This pierced, tattooed guy with ripped jeans and a tight black t-shirt was the owner of a store where the average customer's age was at least 55? "How old are you?"

"Not too old, in this incarnation anyway." He smiled again. "I recently inherited it."

"Lucky you," I said, and resumed petting the impatient cat. "I love this place, and am glad it went to someone who wants to keep it open instead of selling it to a developer."

"You really think I should keep it open? I've heard most people don't read anymore, and those that do prefer ebooks. I could probably sell it for a good price and settle down--"

"You can't seriously be thinking of selling!" I felt my cheeks get hot. I took a deep breath, swallowed "I mean, Morrison's has been here forever, and..."

"And?" He repeated when I didn't finish.

I sighed. "And I just realized you were teasing me."

"So why don't you tell me more about how happy you are that this ancient, crumbling building is still in place? We can head over to Dixie's next door." He stood and parted the long strings of glow-in-the-dark beads that hung over the door with a dramatic flick of the wrist. "I'll pay."

"That offer is tempting, but I have homework." The words were out before I could stop them. I almost hit myself in the head. No, that wasn't what I'd meant to say. I mean, I did have homework, but I could do it later. Or just forget about it.

I bit my lip. Maybe I hesitated because stuff like this never happened to girls like me who wore secondhand clothes every day.

"What subject? I'll help you."

I looked at my lap to hide my smile. I couldn't believe he'd actually offered to help me with homework. I told myself he probably didn't mean it, but I couldn't stop that giddy, warm feeling in my stomach.

"History," I told him.

"Good, I know a lot about history."

I shook my head. "Alright."

He grinned. "You're easy, I like that."

I didn't really have a response. I guess I was easy.

Then he was on his knees in front of me. "Come here Princess," he cooed.

My pulse spiked. I wondered if I should I slap him or "come here." Then I realized he was talking to the cat.

He cradled her in his arms as she squirmed and hissed, then set her down on a lavish purple pillow accented with golden tassels. "See what I said about temperamental women? You aren't going to give me that much trouble, are you?"

"I don't intend to," I replied.

"Yeah," he said wearily and looked away as we made our way through the maze-like rows of bookshelves to the front of the store.

"I just realized I don't know your name," I said.

"It's Oz," he responded without turning around.

I couldn't help but smile. "As in The Wizard of...?"

This time he did turn and nodded with a smile.

"No need to make that face with me. My name is Devi," I explained. "I don't really look it, but my grandmother was from India."

"It's a beautiful name," he said, and leaned against the door.

The last light of day peeked through the space between his body and the door frame. Lovely, I thought. It was my last coherent thought.

Pain. It pierced my skull, pumped through my veins, burned like acid as if it were liquidating my body. I couldn't see. Couldn't think. I barely even felt the sting as my knees hit the tile floor.

"Stop. Stop," I screamed, and tried to wiggle through the doorway. Tried to get away. My arms twisted and convulsed like they had popped out of the ground in front of a tombstone in a B-horror movie.

"Hey." The voice sounded distant, like a memory from long ago echoing back. The only thing that felt real was the pounding, the nausea, the blood as my teeth sank through my tongue. I whimpered. Even my throat was on fire.

And then something touched my shoulder, and it stopped.

I felt nothing but the chill from the white tiles beneath my palms, the cold bite of autumn wind on my cheeks, and something warm gently rubbing my back. Even the taste of blood in my mouth was gone.

"Easy," Oz said, and pulled me to my feet with those same strong hands that had so sweetly petted that cat and given me water. He held my shoulders as I gained my balance. "Are you okay?"

No, this couldn't be real. This had never happened before. Nothing ever made the pain stop but running as if the devil himself was on my heels.

"What did you do?" My voice wavered. Fear, I realized. It crawled through my limbs, made any movement other than shaking impossible.

He swallowed. For a split second the smile on his face faltered, and he looked down. "What do you mean?" He asked evenly.

My breath came in short, rapid bursts. He was hiding something. Every cell in my body knew it. And yet the very instinct that recognized it prevented me from calling him on it.

His grip on me tightened. I shut my eyes and asked that same question again with different words: "How did you stop the pain?"

_After Eden_ is available on Smashwords, as well as other popular online retailers.

