“Stop, wait, go back . . .” Esther grabbed Grace’s phone and peered at the screen. In the last picture, just over Noor’s shoulder, she could see a familiar black bob streaked with white, the owner casting a disinterested look across the people on the dance floor from under her bangs as she sipped some punch.

“It’s her!” Esther whispered reverently, whipping to look over her shoulder in case Goth Girl was still there.

“Who?” Noor asked.

Esther zoomed in as best she could.

“Oh. Her.” Noor’s expression soured a touch. “Yeah . . . she does English, too.”

“She does?” Esther seized her by the shoulders. “Why did I not know this?”

“Well, it’s not like I’ve seen you at that many lectures . . .”

“What’s her name?”

“I don’t know! She doesn’t really talk to anyone.”

“Grace!” Esther turned to show her the screen, but Grace wasn’t paying any attention.

The big hit of the summer was playing, poppy and peppy, something Esther could dance to at a nightclub but only permit herself to enjoy ironically. A few girls leaped onto the sofa in a coordinated move, and people surged into the middle of the room, arms aloft and voices loud, reliving a younger, simpler life that they’d had only months before.

But not Grace. The verve with which she’d hauled them onto the dance floor had faded away, replaced by an appropriately ghostlike melancholy as she stared into some distant memory, eyes misting over.

Esther touched her friend’s arm. “Grace? Are you OK?”

“This song reminds me of Tony.” Grace didn’t seem to be talking to Esther at all until she said, “Actually, I need the loo. See you in a bit.”

As Grace slipped through the crowd, Esther and Noor exchanged a glance.

“What was all that about?” Esther asked.

“Tony, I guess.” Noor reached into a nearby bowl and picked up a supply of strawberry laces; then with a sigh, she said, “Same old. They’re long distance, and yours truly is long-suffering.” She gave Esther a rueful smile and nodded after Grace. “I’d better go make sure she’s OK. You all right on your own?”

Esther nodded fervently. She wouldn’t be on her own for long. Noor had said that Mystery Goth didn’t talk to anyone, but that was only because she’d yet to meet Esther de Groot, mistress of the eldritch and yet-to-be bestie.

Contrary to all expectations, Daisy was having an excellent time. Everywhere she looked, she came face-to-familiar-face with someone she knew. After waving hello to a couple of people she’d met yesterday at the Origami Soc, she’d bumped into one of the more affable Ladies Who Brunch, been briefly swallowed up by some pool players who wanted to know her “secret,” and when she’d passed the Doritos to a sexy ghoul, the ghoul nodded at Daisy from under her hood and said, “Zoise thanks you, Sister.”