“Is that . . . not okay?”

Not if it meant the media or some paranormal TV show crew was going to come parading over our lawn or knocking on our door. Dad would go nuclear.

“You really think he’s going to respond?” I asked, because what else could I say? The trigger had already been pulled.

“If . . . if Moldavia wasn’t a hoax,” said Lucas, his hand held out for mine like he was hoping I’d step back into the spot I’d left, “then . . . how could he not?”

Maybe because he’d almost died? Seriously. Was Lucas legitimately from Mayberry?

“Lucas,” I began, but stopped when a certain yellow-bedecked someone sidled up next to him.

“Hey,” Charlotte said, glowering at me as she spoke to Lucas. “Stephanie needs a drink. Don’t you, Stephanie?”

Lucas’s hands went to his hips. “Char—”

“You’re being really rude,” said Charlotte, giving him a shove. “Look at her, she’s parched. Don’t worry. I’ll keep her company till you’re back.”

Lucas dropped his arms, his shoulders knitting. Again, he opened his mouth to argue with her, but she shot him a glare and he pivoted toward the drink station. Charlotte, in turn, spun to regard me, her eyes full of something that scared me.

“Do you know why I’m here?” she asked.

“Be . . . cause you hate me?”

“Close,” she said. “I’m here because I hate that look on my best friend’s face. The one he was wearing just now? Yeah. FYI. That’s not going to fly.”

I folded my arms, irritated, beyond confused, and maybe a little embarrassed.

“Like he’s all smiles whenever he’s tiptoeing around you,” I said. Because why not add defensive to the list?

She rolled her eyes at me, and just when I’d thought I’d gone too far—poked the ponytailed bear past the point of fury—Charlotte laughed.

“Please. You think we don’t talk?” she challenged. “You think I don’t know your hair smells like the ‘ocean at midnight’ or whatever? Even though I told him that’s probably just coconut curl cream.”

Hold up. Lucas talked about me? That way? To Charlotte?

I opened my mouth to ask the question I hadn’t even finished formulating in my head yet, but Charlotte held up a hand, stopping me.

“Here’s the rundown on me and him,” she said, like she’d read my mind. “We dated over the summer. That was awkward sauce, and it didn’t work out. Now he’s smitten with you, and you’re all I ever get to hear about.”

“But you—”

“I didn’t like you because I thought you were judgy, and fake,” she prattled on. “But Lucas says you’re cool and that your house might actually be a portal to hell after all, and I realize that’s gotta suck. So I’m over it, and if we end up getting along—no promises—you’re going to lend me that jacket.”

I shook my head, trying to keep up. And to believe my ears.

“Also,” she said, hand going to her hip as she cocked it to one side. “I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but he’s coming back now, so here it is, simple as I can put it. Move in or move on, but don’t mess with him, and don’t break his heart.”