Beep. The answering machine turns on with a loud click. “Hey Myla, it’s Cissy. I want to talk about the party! Wasn’t it just so magical? Did you see Zeke and me dancing? Call me. We so have to talk.” Beep.

The edge of Mom’s mouth curls with a grin. “Zeke took an interest at last, eh?”

“Oooooh yeah.” I set my chin on my palm. “I didn’t realize you knew Cissy had a thing for Zeke.”

“Honey, everybody knows Cissy has a thing for Zeke.”

The phone rings again.

Beep. “Myla, it’s Cissy. Sorry to call again so soon. I know this is my third message–”

Mom picks up her sewing, her smile growing a bit larger. “Actually, Myla, it’s her fifth. She left three last night while you were sleeping.”

I roll my eyes. Great.

Cissy’s voice keeps blaring through the answering machine. “I really-really-really need to talk to you about the party. I have so many questions for you. Love you, sweetie!” Beep.

I drum my fingers on the tabletop. “Cissy’s a little boy crazy and I can’t handle her right now. Mind if I unplug the machine for the rest of the weekend?”

Mom full-on grins. “Nope.”

The weekend decays into a blur of bad reruns from human television, good sugar cereals, and dreading seeing Cissy at school. Monday morning arrives way too soon. Before I know it, I’m slogging through the front doors at Purgatory High. I barely set foot inside the main hallway when Cissy skip-walks toward me, a huge smile on her face.

Hells Bells. When you’re miserable, there’s nothing worse than someone else’s happiness.

“Gooooooood morning, Myla!” Her little golden curls bounce by her shoulders. Even her hair looks chipper.

“Hey, Cissy.”

“Did you get my messages? I tried to get in touch a million times. Then your answering machine was busted or something.”

I press my palms into my eyes. “Mom and I had a fight and–” What do I say here? I fought with a thrax, my dad might be a ghoul, and an oracle angel is sending me visions of Mom’s past? I sigh. “I’ve been a little down, that’s all.”

Frowning, Cissy places her hand on my shoulder. “Oh, that’s too bad.” I can almost hear her counting to three under her breath, giving my misery a bit of air-time before we move onto the marquee subject. “Okay, then! Let’s talk about Zeke.”

I debate about feigning illness—a sudden bout of the plague might get me out of this morning’s Zeke love fest—but then I remember Cissy’s been obsessing about this guy for at least a decade. Let her have her moment. I plaster on a grin. “Can’t wait to hear all about it.”