“I know who she is,” Jackie said, sighing. “She’s the girl you drew.”

“Yeah,” I said, swallowing hard. My throat was dry. A bee zoomed by my head too fast for me to flinch. I looked back at Frankie for reassurance; she gave me one of her rare smiles. Something about having her there made me stronger—and the mean voice in my head had nothing to say. I asked Jackie, “Did you talk to her? Like, last summer?”

“Once or twice,” Jackie said, admiring her own nicely painted nails, her arms still crossed. She seemed like she was putting on a brave act. “She asked me to do her a favor.”

“What was it?” I asked. She hesitated, like she didn’t want to tell me. “Come on, Jackie, she was our best friend. And now she’s—”

“Fine,” she interrupted. “She asked me to take a picture of her. She said it was some surprise for you guys. She made me text it to her and then she was going to show you when you came back this summer.” Hurt flashed into her eyes. “And then, like, I asked if I could join this game you guys were playing, and she said she’d ask you guys, and I never saw her again.” She paused, adding, “Whatever. It’s not like I wanted to hang out with a diva from Seattle.”

“We don’t live in Seattle,” Frankie corrected her flatly.

“Colette was not a diva,” I said angrily, clenching my fists.

Jackie shrugged. “Seemed like it.” She looked over her shoulder into the house, then stepped closer to the door, like she didn’t want anyone inside to hear her. “I told you what you wanted to know. Now leave.”

That wasn’t good enough for me.

“How can you call Colette a diva? What did she do to you?”

“Besides thinking she and her friends were too good to hang out with me?” Jackie asked back.

“We were just having fun together,” I said softly.

“Oh, I know, I heard,” Jackie snapped. “All of your stupid games and stupid deep conversations and ghost stories keeping me up—”

“Speaking of that,” I interrupted, putting up a hand. Jackie looked down at her toes. I stepped closer to the screen door. “I know you heard the story about William.” It wasn’t a question; I was certain. “I know what you did.”

When Jackie looked up, she had tears in her eyes.

“I’ve liked him since second grade,” she whispered.

It was like I’d had a dormant volcano inside me—now it erupted.