She’s right. The music is fading, the funeral moving on and taking our cover with it.

“How did you even find me?” I ask as we get to our feet.

“In-betweeners stick together,” Lara says, poking me in the chest. And I get what she’s saying. There’s a thread—not a physical one, but just as real—that runs between us. Like a compass pointing north. Which reminds me, for a second, of the weird feeling I had in Metairie Cemetery, that push-pull I felt, and I’m about to ask Lara if she knows what it is when a voice cuts across the road.

“Cassidy Blake!” snaps Mom.

The funeral procession is gone. The street is empty again, and my mother storms across it.

“How many times have we talked about wandering off during a— Oh my, Lara? Is that you?”

“Hello, Mrs. Blake.”

“Sorry!” I say. “I wanted to see the parade. Or funeral, or whatever that was. And I ran into Lara!”

Lara shoots me a look. “What she means is, we talked about meeting up, and she told me where you all were.”

Mom blinks. “Yes, but what on earth are you doing here?”

Lara’s smile widens. “Would you believe, I was in the area? My aunt lives in the Quarter.”

“Mrs. Weathershire?” asks Mom, remembering our host in Scotland.

“Oh, no, um, different aunt,” Lara fumbles, and now it’s my turn to give her a look. “She’s been inviting me for months to come and visit, and when Cassidy told me you were here, too, it was just too perfect.”

“Yes,” says Mom slowly, “what are the odds?”

“She’ll never believe that,” says Jacob, but Lara Chowdhury has a power over grown-ups. I don’t know if it’s her English accent or her perfect posture, the fact that her black hair is always perfectly braided, her clothes clean and pressed, while I always look like I was just caught in a storm—but everyone treats her like an adult.

“Anyway,” says Lara, “I know you’re busy filming, but could Cassidy and I hang out for a bit?”

Mom blinks. “Well, yes, of course, but—” She looks up and down the street. “Is your aunt here with you?”

“Oh, she’s at work right now, but we’ll be careful.”

Mom hesitates, clearly torn between the fact that I’m always getting into trouble, and the knowledge that I’ve made a friend.

Jacob clears his throat.

A living friend, I amend.

Mom looks back at St. Roch. “Well, we are almost done for the day …”

“Great,” I say as Lara tugs me down the curb. “We’ll meet you back at the hotel!”

“All … all right,” says Mom, sounding a bit nervous. “But I want you back before it gets dark.”

“Of course, Mrs. Blake,” says Lara with a perfect smile, pulling me around the corner.