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from California. “Poor you, ending up in a place like
this
.”
    “I’ll get used to it.” Though I’m not swearing on any bibles.
    “Hey! Do you cheer?”
    “I already asked,” Meg interjects, with a reproachful look for me. “She said no.”
    Tasha asks, “Do you swim? Gymnastics?”
    “I’m not much into sports …”
    “What
do
you do?” Lacy demands.
    “Well …” I can’t believe I have to think so hard about this. “I play the guitar. I sing a bit.”
    Unimpressed, Lacy moves along. “So you guys moved into the old Gibbons house, huh?”
    I nod, and the three girls exchange glances before facing me directly: Lacy, slyly; Tasha with mild alarm; and Meg, flushed, with an apologetic smile.
    “Is that significant of something?” I ask Meg when nobody else speaks.
    Meg’s smile wavers. “I started to tell you yesterday, in the tunnel, remember? About—”
    “I told you
not
to,” Tasha interrupts. “My mom said to wait.”
    I prickle with suspicion. “What do you mean, your
mom
said to wait?”
    Meg scoots closer. “Remember when I told you about Annaliese?”
    “Right. The ghost.” I cross my eyes. “Yeah, you won that one.”
    Meg insists, “Hey, I wasn’t joking about that air,” only to be interrupted by Lacy, who blurts out, “I can’t believe nobody told you you’re living in Annaliese’s
house
.”
    “What?” I jerk to face Meg.
    “Well … her
grandmother
’s house,” Meg admits.
    “But you said her grandmother—” I stop as the truth dawns.
    Her granddaughter and I went to school together
, Mom had said.
    “Hung herself,” Lacy finishes with a satisfied grin. “Yep, she sure did. Right in the attic.”

     
    I pop my contraband Klonopin under my tongue in a bathroom stall. If I wait for it to kick in, I’ll be late for my next class, but at this point I don’t care. I’ll ask Mom for a pass.
    Must. Talk. To. Her. Anyway!
    But when I stop at the office, Mom’s not there. Some snotty senior is manning the desk, a student assistant name badge—LINDSAY McCORMICK—dangling from a lanyard.
    “She’s in a meeting with Mr. Solomon,” Lindsay drones, intent on the book in her lap.
    “It’s urgent. I’m her daughter.”
    “I know who you are. I can give her a message.”
    “I’m sure you can,” I say politely. “But I really need to speak with her myself.”
    Lindsay shrugs. “Come back in half an hour, they’ll be done by then.”
    I resist the urge to fly over the counter. Instead, I turn and walk, unsteadily, out to the hall. By the time I make it to PE, I’ve come to my senses. If Mom doesn’t know Mrs. Gibbons hung herself in our house—not just in our house, but in
my
freaking bedroom—maybe it’s best she not find out while she’s still on the clock.

     
    By the end of the day I have three official friends: Meg, Lacy, and Tasha. Four, if you count Nate Brenner.
    Five, if you count Dino Mancini, who dogs me down the school steps after the last bell. “Hey, Rinn. Can I walk you home?”
    It might be nice to have someone to hang out with after school, but I’m not sure that someone should be Dino Mancini. In the old days he’d have my pants off in a second. Why tempt fate? “Well, I just live right over there …”
    “Yeah, I know. I’ll walk you, anyhow. Nice boots,” he adds, staring briefly at my feet. Then he raises his eyes slowly, too slowly. And I know that hungry look too well.
    I whip my head around when someone touches my shoulder.
    “Hey,” Nate greets Dino. “What’s up?”
    Dino hesitates. “Nothin’.”
    Nate’s hand tightens on my shoulder. Dino notices. He sends Nate a dirty look, me a sad little wave, and slouches off.
    “My pleasure,” Nate says, though I haven’t thanked him yet. “How’d it go today?”
    “Oh, just lovely. Why didn’t you
tell
me she hung herself in my room?”
    Happily, I caught him off guard. “You mean Mrs. Gibbons?”
    “Hel-
lo
? You told me she died of old age.”
    “No,
you
said