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with things like this? Should I give him back the necklace? Tear up my donation card from the Surfrider Foundation? Hitchhike to Marlwood?
    “Lindsay,” he said. “I really like you. A lot .”
    But let’s just be friends , I mentally filled in, and I wondered what form of insanity I had, that I had actually agreed to riding back to Marlwood with another guy bent on breaking my heart.
    “Whatever,” I muttered, trying to keep my voice steady. I hadn’t asked him, specifically, to break up with Mandy.
    For a moment I thought I saw Celia’s face staring back at me in the windshield; I shifted my gaze and had a terrible thought, and not for the first time: that maybe she really wasn’t there. Maybe it was stress that made me see her. Maybe back at Marlwood, none of that had really happened. I had awakened on the porch, bruised and sopping wet, so maybe it had all been a terrible dream. Or part of a blackout. Or some kind of hallucination . . .
    It did happen.
    “I just . . . ” he persisted, “I feel like I have a duty toward her. We’ve been together since we were little kids, and Kiyoko was one of her best friends. It is over between her and me, Lindsay. It really is. But . . . she was so upset. And I didn’t want to do it at Christmas . . . ”
    “I’m tired,” I said. It was the truth. “Can we not talk?”
    “But we should talk.” He reached out to touch my hair, just like Riley in the theater. I pulled my head back slightly, just like in the theater. “I’m going to do it. I promise. But I haven’t done it yet. I’m just trying . . . ” He fumbled, his blue eyes searching mine for understanding.
    I melted a little. He was trying hard to be honorable.
    “I can’t help you with that,” was all I said.
    “She won’t be there until tomorrow,” he added, and I stopped melting. What was he trying to say? That we were still in the clear to cheat on his girlfriend for another twenty-four hours? Did he think I would ? “She has permission to show up late.”
    “I know,” I snapped. “Julie’s coming up with her.”
    “Oh.” A beat. “So you’ve been talking to Julie.”
    “Not really. Just a couple of calls,” I said. “I didn’t tell Julie that you came over, if that’s what you’re worrying about.”
    He drew back. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
    “I have to go to the bathroom,” I told him, and practically jumped out of the car.
    And he didn’t stop me. Which was good, because I couldn’t have held the tears back another second.

FOUR
    I HID IN THE CHEVRON bathroom, which was incredibly gross, splashing water on my face to wash away the tears I could not hold back. Then I took several deep breaths, and worked to make my face a mask, so Troy wouldn’t see my misery.
    He didn’t break up with her. Stupid—I was so stupid for believing there was a chance this was real.
    As I walked across the breezeway, fog washed over my ankles like a low tide, trailing in wisps across the concrete expanse between the mini-mart and the pumps. I studied the mountains, and my stomach clenched as thick waves of fog crept down the tops of the pine trees like wild animals searching for prey. Crossing my arms over my chest, I shuddered, hard. I knew what really lived in that fog . . . crazy, angry dead girls obsessed with revenge.
    “Hey,” Troy said behind me, and I jumped. “Whoa, sorry. I thought you saw me at the register.” He held up two Red Bulls and some trail mix. “I just got a couple of things to keep us going.”
    Peace offerings.
    “Thanks,” I said, as we walked back to the car. The fog billowed with our strides as we climbed in and he turned the engine key; the motor purred to life and the car idled eagerly. I clenched my Red Bull so hard my fingertips went numb.
    “Last chance,” he reminded me, gesturing to my phone. I texted Julie, but there was no answer. I pictured her riding up with Mandy, probably in a convertible, talking about Troy and Spider, laughing like