“Um,” I began. I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “Yeah. I—”

“Worry not, fair maiden!” Wes called to Charlotte. “I shall dance with thee!”

With that, Wes descended the bleachers. He closed the distance between himself and Charlotte before hauling her off her feet and tossing her over his shoulder. Charlotte yelped and then, unable to help it, she laughed as Wes began to fake waltz. He grinned at me while he turned with Charlotte.

“I told y’all we need to get a spray bottle for him,” said Patrick, kicking back with his soda. “Don’t tell me it’s not in the budget.”

I would have laughed myself if Lucas hadn’t chosen that moment to take me by the hand and lead me out of the room. He drew me up a nearby set of steps to an empty landing. Sunlight streamed in through the stairwell’s big windows, highlighting the faint sheen of sweat on his brow.

“Everything all right?” he asked me.

Why was he so warm? Probably, he was this way with everyone.

I pointed back the way we’d come. “Sorry I interrupted.” Again.

“You didn’t interrupt,” he said. “We were just cooling down. We’re actually in really good shape.”

Yeah. I would say you are, too.

“Uh.” Focus, Stephanie. “What exactly are you guys rehearsing for?”

“Oh.” He stuffed his hat under one arm. “Charlotte and I compete together. There’s a big shindig happening this Saturday. It’s an annual deal. We took home third last year.”

“Wow.” I grabbed one of my elbows, trying not to come off like I cared too much one way or another that Lucas and Charlotte had been dancing together for years. “You guys must be really good.”

He shrugged. “We’re better than we were last year. Which is good since the prize money really helps with supplies for SPOoKy. Last year, the winnings helped us get our thermal-imaging camera.”

“You guys are really serious about this ghost-hunting stuff, huh?”

“We’re as serious as you can be about anything when you’re in high school,” he said, doing his underplaying, dismissive thing. “But enough of my blabbering. What’s something you like to do? What are you passionate about?”

Even in the face of these questions, I managed to keep my smile intact this time. The words to answer him with, though, proved more difficult to conjure. What was I “passionate” about? It used to be music. It used to be singing. It used to be chasing notes and sometimes still, when I got the itch, writing down words to songs that didn’t exist. Then Charlie had appeared.

“I guess I don’t have a lot of free time these days.”

“You’ve got to help your dad a lot,” Lucas guessed, stuffing his hat into a back pocket.

“We help each other,” I said. “Charlie helps, too.”

“You and your sister are pretty close,” he observed.

“She drives me crazy sometimes,” I laughed. “But she’s . . . well, she and Dad are . . . everything.”