The words come hiccuping out of her before Sam can stop them. “Maybe some gossip should get out about Hugo Baker!”

  Katie shoots her a sideways, warning glare. Campbell lurches in his seat. His eyes are wide, his kind face hardened. Sam’s chin sinks toward her chest. “We talked about that, kid,” he tells her firmly. “You have to let it go.”

  The second pressing issue of the evening, to Sam’s utter shock, is her own promotion. The mood at their table takes a sharp upward turn, and Campbell proudly tells her that, in exchange for her shadowing work and the burden of Poppy’s situation, he has decided to officially change her title and pay for the final weeks of the summer. “You’ll still be with your cabin, of course,” he explains, “but I’ll get you your own set of keys and have you trained in some supervising work. I”—he nods across the table, at Nick—“we, just thought it wasn’t fair, how much we’ve asked of you this summer. You should be getting something back.”

  Sam beams. For a moment, she is flattered. They each hug her in turn as they leave the mess hall, Campbell warmly, Nick stiffly, Dane nearly collapsing her ribs. It feels good, but she knows something is wrong. This is too close to Phoebe’s blackmail attempt. Sam is the dead girl’s counselor. She has been inside the facility; she saw the decision-making play out after the horse accident; she knows what the murderer did to the wife. Sam puts the fake gold in the river every morning. To get something back is to stay in her place. This is wrong, and she can choose to acknowledge that it’s wrong or stay flattered. Either way, the decision has been made.

  The next morning, in the office, she signs her new contract. “Welcome to the team, kid.” Campbell pats her on the back. “You happy?”

  Sam nods and smiles. He leaves to find a set of keys for her, and she is left standing directionless in the center of the room, watching Nick work on the schedule board.

  “Hey,” she says to him. She finds nothing to follow it up with.

  “Hey.” He looks distractedly up at her. “Oh, hey. I need to borrow Poppy at free hour today.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Nothing. We’re working on something. Don’t worry.” His smile melts as he watches her expression. He glances at the screen door, still jittering from Campbell’s exit. “Hey, by the way. We should be careful now.”

  “What?”

  “You and me.” He gestures at the space between them. “I mean, with the promotion. He asked me about it, and I sort of stuck my neck out for you. If he found out . . . You know, we should just be careful.”

  Nick has a habit of bringing up uncomfortable subjects in the daylight. It’s starting to wear on her. “I didn’t ask you to stick your neck out for me.”

  “I know. I wanted to.” He rises from his chair and steps across the room toward her, leans in to kiss her. Then he hesitates, as if she said something to stop him. “What?”

  “Nothing. What, you?”

  Nick shrugs. They are on entirely different tracks, passing each other in opposite directions. Waving as they go by. “Listen, Sam.”

  “What?”

  His eyes fall to the office floor, then back to her. He forces his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “If something is going on with you and Taps, it’s . . . I mean, I get it. It’s Camp. I can’t be mad at you for hooking up with someone else.”

  Sam blinks at him, for a moment completely lost. Then she sputters. A glob of spit from her sudden laughter hits him in the chin, and she apologizes frantically, both of them scrambling to wipe it off at the same time. “There’s nothing going on,” she tells him on the other side of the confusion. “Taps isn’t interested in me, I promise.”

  “What?”

  “He has a thing with Gabe. They’re trying to keep it quiet. I thought you knew.”

  “I don’t know anything.” Nick shakes his head.

  The prickly barrier she was holding against him softens. Sam closes the space between them, her fingertips resting against her new contract on the desk. “I’m not planning on hooking up with anyone else,” she adds quickly. “Just so you know.”

  Nick fidgets with the lanyard around his neck, looking awfully proud of himself. It isn’t such a stretch to see a quiet, pubescent boy behind that smile, sharp-eyed and shy, desperate for attention. Every man she knows was a boy once. She wonders, in Hugo Baker’s shoes, how he might have behaved.

  At night she dreams about the white-tiled hall. She searches for Poppy’s name along the doors, but she can’t find it. The place becomes a maze; she turns corner after corner and only finds more hallway, more doors. More names. The lights flicker and darkness seeps through the arched ceiling, dripping down to fill the hall and bury her, drown her. Just before she wakes up, Sam remembers whose name she is actually looking for on all those copper plates. Not Poppy’s, but her own.

  Logan

  Something weird is happening to Camp Phoenix. Nothing big, nothing exciting, but something like a haze in the hot air has them all flipped upside down. Like time has crinkled up and skipped ahead without anyone noticing, everything is suddenly different.

  Milly isn’t Logan’s best friend anymore. She doesn’t know when it had happened, but it did. Hugo Baker isn’t her boyfriend—that happened right after her talk with Sam in the Hummingbirds’ cabin, the very next morning. She wrote him a note, folded the friendship bracelet he made her into it, and gave it to Max to give to him. It was the boldest thing she has ever done. That same afternoon, she went to the ropes course and crossed the fifty-foot tightrope. The ease of it amazed her; she has spent her entire summer terrified of something that took all of five steps to complete.

  Donna and Joy and Mei hang around her. Liz and Annie hang out with Milly. No one is mad at each other, but no one is exactly happy with each other, either. It’s too hot for anything, friendship or fights. In the late-summer heat, all the flowers have died, all the brush has turned brown, and the sky is a smoky gray. Somewhere not so far away, something is on fire. Somehow, this is not the same place Logan arrived at seven weeks ago.

  The talent show is coming up. Sadie, bright and desperately cheerful as ever, is doing everything she can to encourage the Ravens to sign up for it. She even offers to cover their slots on the cabin chore chart if they participate. They roll their eyes at her. Talent shows are for babies or people with real talent; there is no in-between. During free hour, Logan and Donna sit outside and laugh at the Magpies practicing tuneless routines on their deck. They push each other like it’s a competition—whoever can come up with the nastiest comment wins.

  “Look at Gracie’s fat little knees.”

  “Did you see that dumbass jump Emily just did?”

  “I can’t even hear what they’re singing—they sound like dying pigs.”

  They giggle and fix their ponytails and roll up the cuffs of their shirtsleeves. They know they are being mean. It feels good to be mean. Anyway, the Magpies can’t hear them.

  On the day of the talent show, Logan signs up for an afternoon horse ride with Max. He says he is ready to try it again now that his cast is gone. Their friendship has been easier since the Pike Falls trip. The other girls never tease her for hanging out with him—there is nothing to tease about. It feels nice just to go to the stables, to see the horses and smell the muck and dander and dog around behind Elias, bothering him. Logan doesn’t even mind riding Daisy.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Max shouts back at Logan over his shoulder. He is riding a sturdy old gelding named O’Leary. His helmet is fastened tight, rivulets of sludgy sweat seeping from the brim. “Maybe the murderer and the ghost are the same person.”

  Logan laughs. “You mean, Danny McGee is a murderer?”

  “I mean Danny’s ghost is a murderer.” Max wiggles in his saddle. “Remember what . . .”—he glances up the line of lumbering horses, toward Elias, who is too far to possibly hear them, anyway—“. . . he said? About someone being a good kid? He said, if he was a good kid, he might be a good person.”

  Logan nods. “And Rosie said, ‘He’s not a good person—he’s a murderer,’” she recites. She remembers the night of the dance. Still, it feels so long ago. Months, or more.

  “Right. So, maybe . . . I mean, just hear me out.” Max smiles. He knows he is being silly. They are playing a game, the same way she and Donna play by making fun of the Magpies. “Maybe Danny is the kid they’re talking about. What if, every once in a while, he, you know, picks off a camper—someone he thinks deserves it?”

  She considers that, chewing on her upper lip and tasting sweat and grime. “And the counselors all know about it. But there’s nothing they can do about it.”

  “So, they tell us the story,” Max carries on, growing giddy, “to warn us.”

  “Because if they tried to talk about it like it was real, we wouldn’t believe them.” The giddiness rises in Logan’s voice, too.

  A Pigeon riding in front of Max whips around at them. “What the hell are you guys talking about?” he lisps. Max and Logan giggle at each other. They tell the kid to mind his own business. Silly. They’re just being silly.

  On the walk back from the barnyard toward dinner, they pick up the conversation again. Max looks happy, gesturing excitedly as he talks. He shoves his shelf of dark bangs out of his eyes in the same ticking sort of motion as Logan adjusts her glasses on her nose. Their theory is gaining ground, picking up momentum. “He goes after bullies, but it could be anyone!”

  “But he has to get the kids when no one else is around.”

  “Like if they’re sneaking out?”

  “Or alone in the infirmary.”

  They pause and shiver and laugh. They have both spent nights alone in the infirmary. They’re starting to spook themselves with their own story. Logan pokes at the idea carefully. “He hasn’t killed anyone this summer, right?”

  “Not yet.”

  A nervous squeal escapes them both. They are moving slowly along the trail; everyone else has already passed by them on their way to the lawn. Logan realizes Max is holding her hand. Fingers cuffed, not laced—it feels very normal.

  “You know what else?” he chatters on. “Hugo has these nightmares all the time. He’ll start screaming in the middle of the night. We can hear even it from our cabin. I bet it’s Danny haunting him.”

  “Why would Danny haunt Hugo?” Logan frowns.

  “Well, because he goes after bullies.”

  She drops his hand. “Hugo’s not a bully.”

  Max stops walking. He looks at her and the smile melts from his sunburnt, rounded cheeks. He is a half inch or so shorter than her, Logan notices, standing so close. She thinks he is going to say something else, but he doesn’t. He leans forward and kisses her on the lips.

  “Max!” Logan jerks backward.

  Suddenly as silent and sullen as that far-off morning when he lent her his lip balm, Max rocks back on his heels and frowns froggishly. Logan turns to jog away, leaving him behind her on the trail.

  •••

  The talent show starts out about as uneventfully as she expected. A few little kids toss yo-yos and strum out-of-tune guitars. Jaeden and Jeremy play host, cracking bad jokes and leading the same cheesy old campfire songs between each act. Logan keeps her eyes on the fire. She is far away. When the Magpies’ routine begins, she forgets to cast Donna the narrow-eyed grimace she has been planning all afternoon. Farther down the Ravens’ log, Milly laughs her gravelly laugh.

  Only one act is surprising enough to lift Logan from her trance. Toward the end of the show, when the stars have already appeared above them, Nick sits on stage with his guitar. He usually plays with Elias. This time, the person sitting next to him, cross-legged at the edge of the wilting wooden platform, is Poppy.

  He plays, and she sings. The song is spooky and sad, the melody trickling through Nick’s fingers. Poppy’s singing voice is high and clear and almost perfect for someone so little. A hush falls over the whole crowd and the crackle of the campfire grows louder. Logan looks at Sadie and sees tears on her cheeks. That’s a little dramatic, she thinks smugly. She tries to get the other girls’ attention, but everyone is focused on the stage.

  The spell doesn’t last long. Directly after Poppy’s performance, the Falcons come on to close out the show. Music begins, booming from a staticky speaker somewhere offstage. Six boys start chanting a peppy rhythm and snapping their fingers to the beat. Just as a foreboding feeling sinks into Logan’s gut, the singers appear: Elias from one side, Hugo Baker from the other. They lope together, swinging their arms, singing a sappy love song. Hugo wears the same tie Logan wore to the dance; Elias has his red ball gown on. The whole act is perfectly rehearsed—even the background singers move right on time. When they point toward the crowd, drawing out a long yooouuuu, Hugo’s finger lands directly on Logan.

  She buries her face in her hands until she can feel her heartbeat in her eye sockets. She hears the music end, the boys’ feet stomping off, and Hugo shouting: “That’s for you, Logan Adler! I love you!”

  Laughter and wolf-whistles burst like sparks from the campfire. Someone shakes Logan by the shoulders. Everyone is howling, even the counselors. She is shattered, flustered, grinning behind her hands.

  Then the laughter dies. Applause turns to gasps of shock. Someone screams. Logan wrenches her eyes open and jumps to her feet, searching for whatever they are all looking at. They crane their necks toward the logs closest to the fire, where the Finches and Hummingbirds sit. She sees a shock of blond in the dirt, a flushed chubby cheek. Poppy has fainted.

  Everything becomes a blur. Logan is rushed from her seat; the counselors herd them away from the fire and stage. She looks frantically back and catches sight of Sam kneeling in the dirt, clutching a limp body.

  “Is she dead?”

  “I saw blood!”

  The entire camp is corralled away toward the lakeshore. Little kids whimper. Counselors shout that everything is okay. She only fainted, Mr. Campbell is trying to reassure everyone, his bald head bobbing like a buoy on the sea of campers. Logan’s toes get smashed in the bustle. She sees Sadie crying, harder now, for real. Someone grabs her wrist and grips it tight.

  “The ghost,” Max whispers. His breath is hot in her ear.

  Sam

  They were rehearsing a song. Sam imagined something nefarious—blood tests, brain scans, whatever else—when Nick came for Poppy at free hour three days in a row. They were just rehearsing a song for the talent show.

  She really can sing. It isn’t her song, not a Poppy Warbler song. That would be a step too far. It is clearly Poppy Warbler singing, though; with her eyes closed, Sam can imagine the other person, the grown-up, the star. After the performance, Poppy sits in her lap. She leans forward on her knees, excited, laughing at the Falcons’ song and dance. Then, all at once, she falls quiet. Her eyes roll back in her head, and she slumps to the ground.

  Her body is hot in Sam’s arms. Her pulse races, throbbing in her throat. As the last of the campers are rushed away, Sam shakes her, then slaps her hard across the face. Poppy’s lips twitch.

  “Sam!”

  Sam can’t answer; her jaw is locked tight. She grabs for her water bottle in the dirt beneath their campfire log. Behind a wedged thicket of trees, she can hear the campers clamoring, Campbell shouting for them all to settle down. She unscrews the lid of the water bottle and overturns it on Poppy’s head. “Come on,” she snarls. “Not now.”

  Nick crouches next to them. He has a hand on his keychain. Sam shoves him away.

  Then, in an instant, she is back. Her heartbeat slows. She sputters and blinks. She is standing and talking by the time the talent show should be wrapping up, demanding to know why she is all wet.

  “Heat exhaustion,” Nurse May says. In the infirmary, she takes Poppy’s pulse and temperature and offers her a fudge popsicle. “If it was any other kid, that’s what I’d be telling you. Dehydration and heat exhaustion.”

  What she means, Sam understands, is that Poppy is not any other kid. Poppy is a ticking time bomb. Poppy is a medical marvel—two brains, two bodies, one half dead and one too young to realize; something is bound to misfire eventually. Heat exhaustion or worse, it doesn’t matter. She is gone in less than three weeks.

  Sam stands with Rosie in their conjoined bathroom under the flickering lights. Not crying, not complaining, just standing together. “I don’t like this,” she says out loud, eyeing an enormous moth overhead. It flutters into the plastic light fixture. Thunk . . . thunk . . . thunk. “I didn’t think I was going to love her so much.”

  The next morning, she wakes up late and skips her walk to the gold-panning claim. Oh well, she thinks—maybe the gold’s sudden absence will make it more believable. At the nurse’s instruction, she is careful not to let Poppy out of her sight all day. She brings her to the office in morning period, lets her sit in the air-conditioning with a soda and a picture book. “Relax,” Nick tells her under his breath. “She’s all right.”

  They watch Poppy kicking her stumpy legs against the carpet, giggling over the book. Sam shrugs him off and focuses on her work. When Campbell comes in, he smiles at Poppy and rubs Sam’s shoulders. “Richard wants to talk to you,” he tells her, like a consolation.

  Curiously enough, he wants to meet her at his personal office, in the facility. Sam leaves at the start of dinner. On her way out to the road in the rattling pickup, she stops at the barnyard and scrambles up to the Nest. She takes two deep swigs from the vodka bottle Jeremy keeps in the fridge, then dashes back to the truck feeling lighter. In the cab, she lights a cigarette and sings, driving with one hand, smoking, shouting Poppy’s song out the open window.

  She has never taken the road to the front entrance of the facility before. It’s grand, sophisticated, alien in the wild landscape. Sam parks beside the porch and walks up the steps, half expecting to be greeted by bellhops in white gloves. The carved oak door swings inward at her touch. Inside is an airy lobby, clean, decorated with wood carvings and warm leather sofas. The lights are off. A woman in pale blue scrubs starts and nearly drops her tray at the sight of her. Sam explains that she is here to see Richard Byron, and she points her unsurely in the direction of his office.