“Why would she . . . ?” My words stopped in their tracks as it hit me: Jackie lived next door. My eyes traveled from the low wooden fence to the grand house that was apparently Jackie’s, the one that the businessman came out of every day, the one with the silhouette in the window the other night.

“I guess she lives there,” Frankie said, matter-of-fact.

“Yeah, I got that,” I said.

And then suddenly everything made sense.

It’d been Jackie who’d written in the mirror—and I guess the shower stall, too.

“What a jerk! What is her problem?”

Frankie shrugged, still looking at the house. A horsefly hovered near her but didn’t land. “Go away, gross thing,” she said, and miraculously, it obeyed. She looked back at me. “Colette knew she was a jerk. She talked to her once.”

“Colette talked to Jackie?” I asked in disbelief.

“If that’s what you say her name is.”

“Why?”

“Who cares?” Frankie said.

“Did Colette say that she thought Jackie was a jerk?” I asked, realizing I’d started biting my nails, tasting bitter bug spray in my mouth. My heartbeat had picked up, too, and I didn’t yet understand why. All I knew was that I needed to know the connection between Colette and Jackie.

“I don’t remember what she said about it.”

“About what, exactly?” I asked, wanting Frankie to just rewind her brain and start at the beginning. “Tell me all the details.”

“I don’t remember any details,” Frankie said. “I’m bored. I’m going to get a banana.” She turned and crunched toward the back door, saying as she went, “Just go ask Jackie if you want to know so bad.”

It was all the way light now, but still too early to knock on someone’s door.

I’d wait.

Frankie went with me but stood two steps behind and didn’t talk much, lurking like a bodyguard. I bit my nail as we waited for the door to be answered, standing on a huge porch with furniture made to look rustic but that was obviously brand-new.

My stomach flipped when the door opened.

It was Jackie’s house, all right, because there in pajamas with donuts all over them, hair in a bird’s nest on top of her head, was Jackie. She folded her arms over her big chest and pursed her lips.

“What do you want?” she asked through the screen door, not bothering to open it.

I glanced back at Frankie, who raised her eyebrows at me. After forcing my hands to my sides, I said to Jackie, “I didn’t know you lived here.”

She rolled her eyes. “Obviously, I do.”

“Our cabin is next door,” I explained.

“I know,” Jackie said.

“Uh . . .” I said, looking at my feet for a second. “My sister”—I gestured toward Frankie—“says you met our friend . . . maybe. She was here with us last summer. Colette?”