All of my art from the summer was piled downstairs, but the framed portrait of Colette was propped up on the chair by the window. I could see it in the moonlight.

Hi, friend, I thought, looking at it.

“Stop ignoring me,” Frankie said.

I whispered, “Fine. Is it the crickets? Should I close the window?”

“No, I like them.”

“You hated them last summer,” I said.

“No, I didn’t,” she said. “I’ve always liked crickets.”

It wasn’t worth arguing about, so I asked, “Then what’s driving you crazy?”

She rolled over onto her side on the top bunk.

“That girl,” Frankie said, lower, but not in a whisper. “The girl with the abstract thingy. I can’t figure out where I’ve seen her, but I know I know her.”

“I think it was the blog,” I whispered. “Just go to sleep, okay? Mom said she’s waking us up early to help clean the cabin.”

“Why would I go to your art camp blog?” Frankie asked flatly.

“I don’t know,” I whispered, because why would she? Still, I didn’t have an answer to her question. “Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?”

“But it’s driving me crazy. I can’t sleep.”

“Do you want my headphones?” She’d told me she’d broken hers.

“Okay,” she said, and I slipped out of bed and got them for her.

Twenty minutes later, she was asleep.

And when my sister was still, so was I.

chapter 25

Frankie stood next to my bed, staring at me, startling me awake. It wasn’t light out, but it wasn’t pitch-dark either: it was some early morning hour not meant for my eyelids to be open.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “What time is it?”

“I know where I saw that girl,” Frankie said.

“Ohmygod, Frankie, you woke me up for this? At . . .” I started to reach for my phone to see what time it was.

“Four freaking forty-five,” Kennedy grumbled. “Will you two please shut up already? You’re worse than Kane.”

Frankie ignored her, I apologized even though I was still mad, and Kennedy ignored me, which made me madder.

Frankie hopped twice, shaking her hands like she couldn’t wait to tell me a great secret. I knew there was no way she’d let me go back to sleep until I listened to what she had to say. She looked wired, like she hadn’t gone to sleep at all. But I knew she had . . . At least I thought she had.

“Fine, how do you know Jackie?” I whispered.

“From here! At the cabin . . . last year!”

Kennedy growled loudly and put her pillow over her face. She muttered a string of muffled curse words.

“What do you mean? Like, she came to the door or something?” I asked Frankie.

“No, she was outside.”

“What was she doing on our property?” I sat up, more awake by the second.