If I had been alone in my room, I could have made eating that pizza sound seriously indecent.

  As it stood, I managed to make myself not look like a total idiot.

  The night was going great. So you know what, hindsight? Twenty-twenty. I should have been expecting the other shoe to drop. The other shoe always dropped.

  I just… I was enjoying myself. I wanted to believe that maybe I could have friends and be part of a group, and have like, a normal life for a change.

  Then Erica nudged Midge with her elbow, and Midge gave an over-the-top sigh and said, “So. Really cool that you got into a fight with May.”

  I froze, my eyes going wide. For a few seconds, my mouth pulled itself into a startled O-shape, then I managed to catch myself and straighten my expression into something that resembled less of a dying fish.

  The thing was, I couldn’t tell if she was being serious or sarcastic. “I’ve been having a hard time lately.”

  That was Trevor’s line. It seemed like a good one. I caught his eye from the other side of the basement, and he gave me a reassuring nod. Okay, he seemed to be on the same page as me about just trying to dismiss it.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised. I did break May’s nose. She had come to school with a great big bandage over the bridge of her nose for a solid week, and even after it was taken off, the bruising had stayed for a while.

  No amount of coverup—and she had clearly been caking on the cover up—had been enough to keep the bruising out of sight. So yeah, it was the talk of the school then, and now that we were in like, a one-on-one situation, maybe it made sense that it got brought up again.

  Erica stayed pretty monotone. “I bet. Your dad died, right?”

  My throat was tight. I swallowed hard. “Yeah.” I didn’t know what to say. How much information did these people actually want?

  Erica said, “That’s crazy.”

  Crazy.

  Like it was just some wild party story that my dad was dead. That mom was dead. That I just had two old people I barely knew left—and Molly, of course. But did Molly count? She didn’t act like a friend the way that Trevor did, and she wasn’t even able to talk with me about everything.

  If she said the wrong thing, her mouth went away and I got booted straight out of the world. So, it wasn’t like a real friendship. I could tell her my secrets, and she could tell me hers.

  And now, well, I still couldn’t really be honest, could I? These people didn’t want to hear about how even eating mashed potatoes made me cry sometimes, because I missed him so much and they made me think of when he would draw faces in the gloopy white potato clouds, or how sometimes I still did things the wrong way on purpose, because I was childishly hoping that he would show back up and scold me.

  They didn’t care that when the cops told me what happened, I cried so hard that I puked, or that the social worker made me sit in a totally white room surrounded by toddler toys for hours because they didn’t know what to do with me. That if my grandparents hadn’t agreed to take me, I would have had to go to a foster home—and let’s be honest. We all know what happens to the kids that end up in foster homes.

  My smile felt tight on my own face, like it was carved into silicone or made out of plastic. It didn’t feel real. It felt like a doll’s smile. I had a lot of experience with doll smiles lately, so I would know.

  Erica made a super totally fake noise of understanding. I mean, of course it was fake. No one could understand, not unless their dad had burned up and then the government had shipped them all the way to the other side of the country.

  Midge said nonchalantly, “Yeah, it’s like, totally sad.” And then, “So what’s your creepy house really like?”

  I realized the whole party was listening. “Ah…” I smiled awkwardly. “It’s full of dolls. And it’s creepy.” I shrugged. “Not much to say.”

  Right? Right. The house was big, and it was old, and it was weird. Like the dolls, and my grandparents, and everything else. Whatever, forever, my whole life could be boiled down to that sort of a formula. Even my room was filled up with dust and dolls and dead people.

  Okay, the part about the dead people was probably interesting, but I wasn’t stupid. If I said literally anything about the illustrated dream world, then everyone in the whole school was going to think that I had gone off the deep end. They would get counselors involved and maybe even the social worker again, and there wouldn’t be any way for me to prove it.

  I was pretty sure that my grandparents didn’t know anything about the house. Well, Gramps might have… But then again, he could have just been old and weird and, I don’t know. Maybe he had seen the same mouse that I had seen. That didn’t mean he realized a porcelain doll turned into a magical portal to another dimension once a month.

  Molly had never mentioned anything about Gramps, either. The one time she mentioned my grandparents, it was Grandma—pretty sure about the fact that Grandma took care of her doll and changed its clothes and that sort of stuff.

  I was distracted. The point was, I couldn’t tell anyone else about what happened on the full moon, not even Trevor. I took a few big bites of my pizza, trying to find a way to steer the conversation back onto topics that didn’t make me want to curl up into a ball.

  No luck.

  Erica leaned forward. “Come on! I heard someone died in there.”

  I stared at her, wide eyed. She had given me such a friendly smile earlier! Why would she do something like this? Then I recalled the look on her face during the game of pool; she was mad that Trevor had been all over me while we played, but Rob wouldn’t give her the time of day.

  Well, that wasn’t my fault! I had never even met Rob before tonight!

  I didn’t have time to try and change the subject. The crowd was already joining in.

  “Yeah!” Mason said, looking up for the first time since the pizza arrived. He might have been short, but he could pack away a pie. “Can you still see the blood and stuff?”

  For what might have been the first time since I got there, Pip looked at me and said, “You know, I’ve heard that story too. Everyone says it was someone different. Do you know their name? Did your grandparents tell you anything about it?”

  Rob joined in, “Me too! My cousin has a friend, and they said that sometimes you can still see that person’s ghost hanging around in the windows.”

  “It’s not the windows,” said Mason. “The ghost haunts the basement, where it died. That’s the whole point of haunting something. It has to be, like, where you died at.”

  “Not true,” countered Rob.

  Mason challenged, “What, you’re a ghost expert now?”

  “More of an expert on it than you, clearly.” Rob widened his eyes and jutted his chin forward in a mocking manner. “Ghosts can haunt whole houses if they died in the house. It’s not like Bloody Mary can only kill you in the bathroom.”

  Erica squeaked. “Don’t bring Bloody Mary into this!”

  Rob grinned at her. “Oh no, that’s the second time we’ve said her name!”

  “Rob,” said Midge, sharply. “We’re not talking about urban legends. We’re talking about the creepy Hoggwaller house.”

  God. They just wanted me out here because of that. I turned my gaze toward Trevor, who was standing over the table where the mostly empty box of pizza had been balanced on, staring at the chaos unfold with wide eyes.

  He looked surprised and disappointed by the conversation, so I don’t think that this was planned exactly—but he also wasn’t trying to stop them from talking about it, either. He was just standing there staring—while they chewed up the unfortunate story my life had become, my whole family, even, and spat it back out like a regurgitated cat’s hairball.

  Rob rolled his eyes. “Whatever. There aren’t even any mirrors down here anyway.”

  Erica looked relieved. She also looked upset, like talking about some stupid ghost story was worse than talking about my actual life.

  Midge looked me straight in the eyes and asked, “Seriously, you said there are tons of dolls sitting around?”

  Erica got a bright-eyed look. “Oh! Is that why you have all of those dolls in your illustrations?”

  “You’re drawing your house?” Midge asked.

  Erica said, “Her project’s about a ghost in an old house with tons of dolls. She must be writing about the Hoggwaller ghost!”

  “Don’t call it that,” I said weakly.

  No one paid me any attention. Pip said, “I heard that it really is a Hoggwaller. The ghost, I mean.”

  “Like her dad?” Midge questioned. She turned those sharp eyes back to me. “Is it your dad?”

  “Midge,” said Trevor, disapprovingly.

  Midge shrugged. “Honest question.”

  Mason added, “Yeah, but it’s a stupid question.”

  “Don’t call her stupid,” scolded Rob.

  Mason rolled his eyes. “I didn’t call her stupid; I said the question was stupid. How could it be her dad if the guy just died, huh? Unless you think it’s a time-traveling ghost, it’s totally not her dad.”

  “Maybe it is a time-traveling ghost,” suggested Rob.

  Midge said, “Now that’s stupid.”

  I could feel the tears starting to well up in the corner of my eyes and started to blink rapidly, hoping that they wouldn’t fall and totally ruin my makeup. I had spent a lot of time on this look—for no reason, since even pretty-girl Midge had just slapped on mascara and lip gloss and called it a day.

  So softly that only Midge, who was closest to me, could hear, I said, “Excuse me,” and turned to head for the stairs.

  Midge laughed.

  Erica, giggling, asked, “Hey! Where are you going?”

  I didn’t stop.

  I went up the stairs, my sneakers thumping heavily against them, and took the first exit that I saw; sliding doors that led to the backyard. It was dark out, but that didn’t mean it was any less hot. The yard was mowed down nicely, and there was a little flower bed that lined one side of the house.

  A stray tomcat had been sitting on the big privacy fence that wrapped around the yard, though at the sight of me it hissed, puffed up its fur, and went straight over the fence and into the neighbors yard. There was no sound of barking so I figured it was okay.

  Good. Last thing I needed right now was the guilt of a dead cat on top of everything else.

  An ancient-looking swing set sat on one side of the yard. The fence actually wrapped partially around the side of the house, and ended into a gate that let out toward the road. I could feel the tears really starting to burn at my eyes now, and didn’t want Midge or Rob or anyone else coming out here and finding me crying.

  I ducked around the side of the house, pressing my shoulders against the wall of the building. My head thumped against it too, hard enough that it made my skull throb dully. Ouch.

  With no one around and nothing but the quiet of the night to keep me company, I was finally able to take a few deep breaths. I pressed my fingers beneath my eyes and wiped away the tears with an almost expert flick, only getting a tiny bit of eyeliner on them.

  I didn’t know what sort of a state the lime green eyeshadow cat wings might have been in, but my bet was probably not a great one.

  The sound of the sliding door pushing open cut through the silence of the night. I bit my lower lip, praying that it wasn’t Midge following me outside to demand to know more about the creepy Hoggwaller Manor and its so-called ghost.

  Was it my dad? Who asked that kind of a question? Just the thought of my dad getting stuck somewhere like the Ghost Girl in my story was enough to make my heart beat faster, my eyes burn, and the tears threaten to spill down my cheeks all over again.

  “Quinn?” Trevor called out.

  I let out a relieved breath. The exhale was loud enough that Trevor knew to step around the side of the house. He looked me over and then, without saying anything, moved to join me; he leaned against the building right beside me, his shoulders pressed to the wall. We were close enough together that our bodies almost touched. If I moved my hand even a little bit, our knuckles would bump together.

  The thought of that didn’t fill me with glee the way it might have earlier in the night. My emotions were all tangled up again, with that fast becoming familiar anger and upset starting to take root in my heart. I could almost picture it.

  My heart was a tall glass of water, and the anger was a drop of red food dye getting added in from way up above. It hit the glass and then started to slowly seep into the whole thing, until every ounce of the liquid was stained with that pretty pink. Then another drop would be added, making the shade darker and the anger brighter.

  “I’m sorry.” Those two words cut through the silence in a way so startling, it actually made me jump.

  I bit my lower lip. For a long moment, I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say anything. He was sorry. Why, because they said all of that? Because he didn’t stop them from saying it? Because he could stand at my side just fine out here, but inside, he wanted all those people to like him, so it didn’t matter how upset they were making me?

  Or—a thought uncurled in the back of my mind, like a flower bud finally blooming into a great big rose. It was a red rose. An angry rose. A rose with so many thorns that it would be impossible to lean in for a sniff and not get pricked.

  “Am I only here because of my creepy house?” I asked him, thinking about how badly he had wanted to get video of the basement. It was to prove that he had been there.

  Was this the same sort of thing? Trevor wanted to prove that he was friends with the creepy Hoggwaller girl?

  “No. I’m sorry—” Trevor started.

  I pulled away from the wall so fast that my hair slipped, revealing the stars that I had painted on earlier that night. “You're sorry? If that’s not why I’m here—why won’t anyone shut up about it?”

  He stared at me, mouth hanging open.

  I demanded, “What? Just spit it out! If that’s the only reason I’m out here, then you might as well tell me now!”

  “It’s not.” He sounded distracted. He took a small step toward me, reaching out with one hand. The very tips of his fingers brushed over my cheek, just beneath the lowest set star. “Are those the stars from your story?”

  There was something almost like concern in his voice. I pulled backward, reaching up to cover the makeup with one hand. They weren’t. Not really. They were just cute little stars, because pop stars wore these all the time and I was stupid enough to think that this was going to be a party like teenagers put on out in Maryland.

  I’d thought everyone would be wearing all kinds of fun makeup, and I just wanted to look cool. But instead, Trevor was looking at me like I had just told him, oh yeah, that stray cat that was in your yard? I killed him, see, look at the stars? Proof!

  He was looking at me like I had lost my mind. Like the fact I would ever think to put on something like this was absolutely crazy.

  “It’s not,” I told him, but there was a sort of sullenness in my voice that I couldn’t quite stop, and my eyes were still brimming with tears.

  Trevor shook his head. He sounded even more concerned when he said, “Quinn, she’s a villain. She’s not you. You’re not a—”

  “A killer?” I filled in. I tried to make it sound incredulous. You know, like duh, Trevor, of course I’m not a killer, that’s crazy!

  But even as those two words left my mouth, all I could think about were the people that I had killed in the dream world.

  The first group, it had even included him, and it was done out of anger. And after that, it wasn’t even anger! I could have cared less about Johnny and his mower. I had just put him in that world because I could; because I wanted someone else to kill.

  Because it was fun.

  Did that make me a villain? Did that make me just as bad as the ghost in my book? But she wasn’t even bad, not really. She was lonely. She just wanted a friend who would stay with her forever. What was so bad about that? About wanting to make sure that people didn’t leave you?

  I knew how much it hurt to be alone. That was horrible. To be alone for your whole life; to know that there was nothing you could do to change it. She was stuck in that house with no one but Old Lady for comfort, and I was stuck in this stupid town where no one cared.

  “A bad person,” he finished, reaching out and taking hold of my hand. His thumb brushed over the back of my knuckles. “Look… all they know about you is where you live. That’s literally it. But if you opened up a little, showed them who you are… you’re funny, and smart, and one of the best illustrators I’ve ever seen in my life. But you hide that inside. No one can see the real you. And this—” he reached up, running his fingers along my stars. “Isn’t you.”

  But drip, drip drip, there went the anger into the cup. Drip, drip, drip, there went the misery, joining it. The two emotions were potent. They ran through my whole body, until it felt like my skin was crawling and my mouth was watering.

  An hour ago, I had wanted to stay as close to Trevor as possible. But right now, all I wanted was to be as far away from him as I could get.

  I ripped my hand back and snapped, “How would you know the real me?”

  He sighed, like I was getting on his nerves, or maybe like he was just bored with the whole situation.. “Get mad at me, if you want. God knows it’s your usual reaction. Or, you can come back inside and be the girl I like again, and make some friends.”

  I could be the girl that he liked? Was that it? He would be friends with me and hang out with me, but only when I was willing to fit into the perfect little mold he had constructed. He wanted to be around me, but only when I was the sort of ‘me’ that he thought was alright, and normal, and correct.

  Just like everyone else, Trevor wasn’t content with the me that was real. He just wanted the me that was quiet, pretty, and palatable. The me with a creepy house and pretty art and a quiet voice. And that was part of it, wasn’t it?