“Square dance!” we said in unison, both of us cracking up, his laugh making me laugh harder until my sides ached and tears sprung out of my eyes.

  “Thanks, Izzy,” I said when I’d calmed down.

  “Sure, yeah, no problem,” he said, looking at his feet, then back at me.

  Our eyes locked, and there was a second when I thought I was about to have my first kiss. But then the door at the top of the stairs opened and Izzy’s mom called down, asking if I was staying for dinner. I couldn’t because Aunt Maureen was making burgers at my request, and besides, I was ready to go. It’d been a roller-coaster few hours, and I needed time by myself.

  Izzy walked me to the door, but before I left, he said, quietly so none of his nearby family would hear, “I thought of one other embarrassing thing about me.”

  “What?” I asked so quietly it was basically a whisper.

  He stepped closer, like he was telling me a secret. “I told a girl I like her on a trampoline.”

  My insides squished together: a softer type of nervousness. “That’s not embarrassing if she likes you back.”

  “I don’t know if she does,” he whispered. Aunt Maureen honked from the driveway.

  “She does,” I whispered. “So I think you’re good.”

  “Phew.” Izzy looked like I’d just given him a really great present. It made me feel like I’d gotten one, too.

  Tomorrow was Wednesday; there were only two days left of camp and then the art show and it would be over.

  I didn’t want to leave his house. We’d only just . . . I don’t know. But I had to—Aunt Maureen honked again.

  I stepped down to the porch and looked back, smiling up at him, smiling for real because of him.

  “See you tomorrow.”

  chapter 21

  I sat on Colette’s boulder cross-legged with my sketchbook on my lap, adding finishing touches to her charcoal drawing. I’d worked on it throughout the day at camp, despite spending a lot of time staring at and daydreaming about Izzy. Even without my last-minute marks and smudges, I thought that the portrait was the best thing I’d ever made in my life.

  Better than that, it was her.

  I inhaled the smell of prairie grass and bug spray and smoke from somewhere in the distance, feeling something that resembled happy, though that was a hard emotion to even think about experiencing after Colette. But it was there, undeniably, and while I drew, my inner voice was quiet.

  I was adding texture to the background when a shiny black truck I didn’t recognize turned toward the cabin and bounced up the gravel driveway. I made out Kennedy in the passenger seat, arm half full of bracelets dangling carelessly out the window, but the sun reflected off the windshield, obscuring the driver at first. That’s until the truck pulled around the cabin and parked, facing the boulder, between the back door and the shed. Then I could see him perfectly.

  Seb.

  Right in front of me, Kennedy leaned across the truck and grabbed the back of Seb’s head, pulling him toward her. They kissed like long-lost lovers in a movie, not even caring that I was right here! Kennedy patted Seb on the cheek, then slid out of the truck. Seb waved to me and backed away; I was too stunned to wave back.

  Kennedy watched him go with her hand shielding the sun from her eyes, then turned toward me. She had on a tight black tank top with a choker, cutoffs, and white high-tops with graffiti sharpied all over them.

  “Whatup, kid?” she said, beaming. “How hot is that one, am I right?”

  “What are you doing?” I shouted, suddenly angry but I didn’t know why.

  “What do you mean, what am I doing?” she asked. “I’m standing here basking in the glow of that hot Greek man.”

  “But . . . but . . . he’s two years older than you! And you barely talked at the lake!”

  She smirked. “Talking’s overrated. And he’s only a year older than me.” She gestured between the two of us. “You and me are a year and a half apart! Are you saying we can’t hang out?”

  “That’s different,” I said. “We’re related. And we’re . . . That’s not what I meant.” I was flustered. “Does your mom know who you were with?”

  Kennedy laughed at me, holding up her palms. “Calm down, cousin, Maureen knows. She even met him. Is that better?” Bettah?

  No, it’s not! I screamed in my head. I still couldn’t figure out why I was so bothered by Kennedy and Seb, but all I knew was that I didn’t want them kissing like a CW show, and especially not in front of me.

  You’re mad because you wish you were like her, but you know you never could be.

  “No, I don’t!” I shouted out loud.

  Kennedy looked at me funny. “You don’t what?”

  “Nothing,” I said, shaking my head.

  “You seem weird,” she said. “Is this about that old man again? Because we can totally go stake him out if you wa—”

  “No!” I interrupted, annoyed. “I figured out who he is, and he’s just an old man who has dementia. He has nothing to do with Colette.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, smiling at me. “Because it was kinda fun investigating with y—”

  “I’m sure,” I interrupted.

  Kennedy smiled slyly. “Not even if we made it a double date with the brothers?”

  I slammed shut my sketchbook and slid off the boulder, putting my hand on my hip. I didn’t know who I was right now, but I wasn’t quiet, polite Tess. I was angry Tess.

  “Listen to me,” I said, narrowing my gaze at my cousin. “We’re not doing that—especially not with Izzy and Seb. But we’re never looking for the man again, anyway. I told you I found out who he is, so just drop it. It’s over!”

  She looked hurt at first, then her face hardened, morphing back into the Kennedy I’d seen when we first got to Pinedale. It was amazing how quickly she could go from looking like a friend to looking like some angry girl on a punk-rock album cover.

  “Whatever you say.” She started walking away from me, around the side of the cabin. “I can’t wait to go back to Boston. I’m sick of babysitting.”

  She didn’t come to bed that night until so late that I should have been asleep; I pretended that I was. I didn’t know what to say to her, or how to explain how I felt. All I knew was that I was upset, and that if I had another nightmare and cried out in the night, I didn’t think Kennedy would rush to help me anymore.

  chapter 22

  There was no art camp on Friday because Karly and several volunteers were turning the room with the labyrinth floor into a makeshift gallery for tonight. The week had happened too fast, and in just thirty hours, I’d be boarding a plane to go back home.

  Aunt Maureen and I went to Jackson to shop for something for me to wear to the event. I spent most of the drive there and back texting Izzy about the best horror movie soundtracks and how weird it was that Kennedy and Seb were together. We also talked around the big issue of me leaving, typing things like:

  Next week will be so weird.

  I’m going to miss art camp.

  The summer’s gone by too fast.

  I can’t believe I’ll miss your birthday.

  I wish . . .

  When we were shopping, though, I put my phone away.

  “Try this,” Aunt Maureen said, tossing a red floral sundress over the door of the changing room at a boutique nicer than anything there was in Pinedale or back at home. Jackson was fancy, but in a way made to look rustic, I guess. “You look lovely in red.”

  “Thank you,” I said, trying it on. It fit me exactly right and the fabric was soft as a kitten. I opened the door and Aunt Maureen gasped.

  “That’s the one!” she said.

  I checked the price tag and gasped myself. “It’s too expensive,” I whispered.

  “My treat,” Aunt Maureen said. “I’ve loved spending the summer with you, and I’m so proud of you for all your hard work at camp.” She reached out and squeezed my hand. “I know it’s been hard, but you’re doing so well. You deserve to wear something as beautiful as you are. I mean you’re beautiful on the outside, of course, but more importantly, on the inside.”

  You’ve got her fooled, Mean Me scoffed. But I didn’t listen.

  I turned and looked at myself in the three-sided mirror. She was right: it was the best dress I’d tried. And even though my unwashed hair was piled on top of my head and I didn’t have on any makeup, I still looked like the best me in it.

  “I think I need to talk to my mom,” I said, glancing at Aunt Maureen in the mirror. “I think I need to tell her . . .” I sighed. “I don’t know, but something. I’ll figure it out.”

  Aunt Maureen came up behind me, turned me around, and gave me a long hug. She took a step back.

  “You know I love you, right?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “Your mom does, too. And she knows you two need to talk,” she said. “Everything is going to be okay, I promise.”

  We bought the dress and sugary coffee drinks next door and took selfies under a massive arch of antlers at the entrance to a park.

  “This is so random,” I said, looking at the pictures. “Colette would love it.”

  “That’s the first time I’ve heard you bring her up all summer,” Aunt Maureen said, surprising me. I felt like I talked about Colette all the time—but maybe that was only in my head. “It’s nice.”

  “It’s nice to me, too,” I said, and while we walked back to the minivan, I told her the story about the time I hid a cardboard cutout of Darth Vader outside of the bathroom door while Colette was in the shower. Both of us laughed, remembering my best friend.

  * * *

  No one was home when we got to the cabin. There was enough time for me to shower before the art show, but barely. I hurried to the bathroom with my brand-new dress, excited to wear it.

  Excited to show Izzy.

  I washed my hair and body under the showerhead that made the water feel like pinpricks, not using too much shampoo or soap, or it’d never rinse out. I turned the water hotter and inhaled the minty steam, feeling refreshed, wondering what Izzy would be wearing and how he’d act and if he’d like my portrait. I hadn’t shown him yet.

  Finished, I turned off the water and wrung out my hair, then reached out for the towel and dried off in the warm stall. With the towel on my head, I threw back the curtain and stepped onto the braided rug there to save my feet from the unheated tile.

  Looking up, my heart leaped at the message on the fogged-over medicine cabinet mirror, and this time, it was clearly meant for me.

  IT’S NOT OVER, TESS

  I yanked the towel from my head and threw it around my body, then ran out of the bathroom screaming, tears streaming down my face. Uncle Bran and Kane were just getting home; Kane had been at a day camp while Uncle Bran worked. Aunt Maureen was washing her hands at the sink. All three of them looked at me with surprise.

  “What’s the matter?” Aunt Maureen said, hurrying over, her hands dripping, putting an arm around my shoulders.

  “There’s a message in the mirror,” I sobbed. “It’s terrifying!”

  Kane stuck his finger in his mouth and said, “Mommy.” She went over and picked him up.

  Uncle Bran went to bathroom to check it out. He was back quickly. “Who wrote that?”

  “I don’t know!” I cried.

  Was it Colette, after all?

  It had to be!

  Who else would . . .

  Just then, Kennedy came through the back door, and the memory of our conversation the day before slammed into the front of my brain. I’d yelled at her, It’s over! The message said it wasn’t.

  “Was someone screaming?” Kennedy asked. “I heard—”

  “YOU!” I shouted, pointing at her. “You did it!”

  Aunt Maureen sighed and said, “Kennedy, did you write a message on the bathroom mirror to scare your cousin?”

  “What are you talking about?” Kennedy asked. “I’ve been with Seb all afternoon.”

  “Out with Seb?” her dad asked, narrowing his eyes at her. “Or here with Seb?”

  “Out!” Kennedy said, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. Her neck was red like she was allergic to something.

  “Don’t lie, Ken,” Uncle Bran said. “You know we’ll take your phone if you lie to us.”

  Kennedy looked at me, fire in her eyes. “If you cost me my phone because you accused me of something I didn’t do and they believe you just because you’re a goody-goody—”

  “Leave her alone,” Aunt Maureen snapped. “When you have a track record like yours, it’s easy for us to think you might have done something like this.”

  “That’s bull—”

  “Hey!” both of Kennedy’s parents yelled in unison.

  “I’m not going to your stupid art show!” Kennedy shouted at me, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles were turning white.

  “Good!” I shouted back at her, not caring, convinced she’d written the message.

  Did you write the first one, too?

  If so, why?

  “You’re going to the art show,” Uncle Bran said, cutting off Kennedy when she started to protest. “I don’t want to hear it. You’re going, or you’ll hand over your phone.”

  Kennedy turned and stormed upstairs so fast that I worried she’d fall. I heard a sob let loose when she reached the loft, which made me feel for her until I thought back to our conversation again. It was just too perfect: scripted even.

  It’s over!

  IT’S NOT OVER, TESS

  I knew Kennedy did it.

  Or Colette?

  Both were hard to believe.

  “Tess, we’re running out of time,” Aunt Maureen said, still holding Kane like a baby despite the fact that his feet went down to her knees. “Go get ready in our room. There’s a mirror in there.”

  She got my clothes, toiletries, and makeup so I didn’t have to go back in the bathroom, even though Uncle Bran said he’d erased the message. I didn’t have time to do the hairstyle I’d wanted; I pulled half of it up in a side barrette instead.

  “Ready,” I said, stepping out of the room, not looking toward the bathroom.

  Aunt Maureen and Uncle Bran changed like lightning. We all hurried to the car, Kennedy included—in ripped jeans and a T-shirt that said NO. No one spoke, even Kane, but he looked at me every once in a while and smiled.

  I wasn’t even paying attention when we went under the animal bridge, but something in me sensed it anyway, because the fairies did cartwheels on my spine. My bare arms grew gooseflesh, and I turned back, once again, hoping to see anything—even if it was scary. Wanting to know why that stupid bridge creeped me out every single time we went under it.

  But as usual, nothing was there.

  Nothing that I could see, anyway.

  chapter 23

  The room with the labyrinth floor looked magical.

  It distracted me from thinking about the message in the bathroom or my anger at my cousin for probably putting it there.

  Overhead, the main lights were dim, and string lights snaked around the chunky wooden rafters, twinkling brightly. There were small, high tables with crisp black linens and glowing candle centerpieces, and a food and beverage station on the far back wall.

  Along the sides of the long room, each camper had a station with a table dressed in black, our names printed in glittery black calligraphy on paper tents. The tables and the walls behind them featured our individual pieces of artwork from the summer—anything that we’d wanted to turn in, including our special projects. Classical music played softly, and I guessed the candles were scented, because the room smelled like a mixture of nature and birthdays and spiced tea.

  It wasn’t like any gallery I’d seen, but maybe it was better.

  We were ten minutes late, so it was crowded when we got there. Kennedy angrily grabbed a name tag and was quickly swallowed into the room. I was relieved to see her go so I didn’t have to be on defense.

  I picked up a marker from the table near the door to write my name on a sticky tag, my back to the crowd. That’s when I heard a familiar voice behind me.

  Very familiar.

  “The line at the drink table is getting long. Hurry up!”

  Gasping, I spun around to find my sister standing in front of me, wearing a maroon skater dress and slip-on checkerboard sneakers, a massive grin on her face, her normally messy hair now shoulder length and wavy cute.

  I dropped the marker and grabbed her, hugging tightly. She didn’t hug back, because she never does, but she let me squeeze her without protesting. I even felt her smiling against my cheek as she mumbled, “We tricked you.”

  I pulled away and saw my mom; I was crying before I made it the few steps to hug her, too. I’d gotten even taller, so I had to hunch, but being in her arms was still the best place ever.

  “Tessy Bear,” Mom said softly, rubbing my back. “We missed you so much!”

  “I didn’t think you were coming!” I said, crying with my face pressed against her shoulder.

  “Maureen and I thought you’d like the surprise,” she said before pulling back and wiping my tears with her thumbs. “But maybe we should have told you. Oh, don’t ruin your pretty makeup! Was it a bad surprise?”

  “No!” I said. “It’s a good one! I’m so happy!”

  My mom put her hand on her heart, smiling. “Thank goodness.” She stepped back and looked me over. “My girl, you look beautiful. And so grown-up. That dress!”

  “I can’t believe you came,” I said, wiping my eyes again, thinking she looked beautiful, too. She had on slim black pants and a short-sleeved black-and-white wrap top I’d never seen. Her dark hair was down, sleek and shiny.

 

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