The redhead—Lex—lowers his flashlight. And I can see again. He’s standing at the bottom of the steps.

I’m standing on the porch.

We are seventeen.

The return feels like being sucked backward up a vacuum cleaner hose.

“You okay?” Lex asks.

“Yeah,” I say, “I just . . .” But I don’t know what the next words are. Because I don’t know where that thought came from. That memory. Or whatever.

The bright light in my eyes.

It’s like having amnesia and déjà vu at the same time.

“I was on my way to the bathroom,” Lex says, “but I heard something.” He hesitates. Stares at me. I’m still half-frozen. “I wanted to make sure everything was okay over here.” He waits. “Av?”

Nobody’s ever called me that. A nickname. I guess we really are besties now.

“Yeah,” I say again. “I’m fine.”

Lex looks around. But there’s nothing to see. We’re walled in by fog.

“Can I hang for a minute?” he asks. I start to say no, because all I want is to go to bed, but Lex turns off his flashlight and settles on the top step without waiting for an answer. “I don’t think I can sleep yet. I’m nervous, I guess. About auditions tomorrow and everything.”

I take the towel that’s draped around my shoulders and spread it on the boards to protect myself from the slick wet, then settle down to sit beside him. I pull the sleeves of my sweatshirt down over my hands.

“So what do you think of Whisper Cove?” Lex asks me.

“It’s good,” I say. “Like summer camp without the stupid canoeing.”

“I never went to summer camp. My mom never had the money,” he admits. “So I’ll have to take your word for it.” He nudges me with his shoulder. “I saw the way Cole was looking at you tonight.” Lex raises one eyebrow and gives me a sideways smile. “Not bad. Willa Culver’s son.”

“Did you know she had a son?” I ask him. “Before you came here?”

Lex shakes his head. “I didn’t know anything about her personally. I just knew the play.”

I know the play he means, of course. Everyone knows Midnight Music by Willa Culver. Our Intro to Theatre class read it in ninth grade, and I remember being so swept away by the heartbreaking beauty of it. It was the first play that ever moved me like that. I carried the script in my backpack all the rest of that year, just so I could take it out and reread my favorite parts whenever I had a free moment.