She didn’t come to bed that night until so late that I should have been asleep; I pretended that I was. I didn’t know what to say to her, or how to explain how I felt. All I knew was that I was upset, and that if I had another nightmare and cried out in the night, I didn’t think Kennedy would rush to help me anymore.

chapter 22

There was no art camp on Friday because Karly and several volunteers were turning the room with the labyrinth floor into a makeshift gallery for tonight. The week had happened too fast, and in just thirty hours, I’d be boarding a plane to go back home.

Aunt Maureen and I went to Jackson to shop for something for me to wear to the event. I spent most of the drive there and back texting Izzy about the best horror movie soundtracks and how weird it was that Kennedy and Seb were together. We also talked around the big issue of me leaving, typing things like:

Next week will be so weird.

I’m going to miss art camp.

The summer’s gone by too fast.

I can’t believe I’ll miss your birthday.

I wish . . .

When we were shopping, though, I put my phone away.

“Try this,” Aunt Maureen said, tossing a red floral sundress over the door of the changing room at a boutique nicer than anything there was in Pinedale or back at home. Jackson was fancy, but in a way made to look rustic, I guess. “You look lovely in red.”

“Thank you,” I said, trying it on. It fit me exactly right and the fabric was soft as a kitten. I opened the door and Aunt Maureen gasped.

“That’s the one!” she said.

I checked the price tag and gasped myself. “It’s too expensive,” I whispered.

“My treat,” Aunt Maureen said. “I’ve loved spending the summer with you, and I’m so proud of you for all your hard work at camp.” She reached out and squeezed my hand. “I know it’s been hard, but you’re doing so well. You deserve to wear something as beautiful as you are. I mean you’re beautiful on the outside, of course, but more importantly, on the inside.”

You’ve got her fooled, Mean Me scoffed. But I didn’t listen.

I turned and looked at myself in the three-sided mirror. She was right: it was the best dress I’d tried. And even though my unwashed hair was piled on top of my head and I didn’t have on any makeup, I still looked like the best me in it.

“I think I need to talk to my mom,” I said, glancing at Aunt Maureen in the mirror. “I think I need to tell her . . .” I sighed. “I don’t know, but something. I’ll figure it out.”