My mother’s voice, I guess. It seemed so familiar in my dream, but now that I’m awake I can’t remember the sound of it. And that makes me feel like crying. It’s an ache that’s always hiding somewhere down inside me, that feeling of wanting her.

Needing her.

I can shove it down in the daytime. But sometimes in the dark—

I roll over and close my eyes. Try to go back to sleep. But the sheets are soaked. Everything feels wet. My skin. My hair. My pillow. Even the air in my lungs.

The curtains flutter in the night breeze. That explains the cold. And the damp.

I slip out of bed and tiptoe to the window. Bare feet on the icy floor. The fog is rolling in now, but it’s not so thick yet. Not like last night.

So I can see her clearly.

A woman is walking across the muddy field between the farmhouse and the cabins. Moving in and out of the fog and the shadows. She’s made of moonlight. And the heavy scent of lavender. And she dances with a grace that makes my heart ache.

Reaching. Twirling. Bending low to sweep the ground.

She turns in my direction, and we lock eyes across the darkness. Arms outstretched. She’s reaching for me. Long fingers. Bone white.

I stop breathing. Take a step back. Away from the window.

The woman’s mouth opens. Then closes. Her voice is the sound of the foghorn. I blink and she’s closer now. I could reach outside and touch her.

A woman with ice-blonde hair.

A woman who looks exactly like me.

Or my mother.

ACT I: SCENE 6

My heart is pounding in my chest. I blink and she’s not there. Of course. She was just a trick of shadow and fog. A product of sleeplessness and the strangeness of the day. Of being in this place.

Like Val said. A mindfuck.

My imagination dressed in moonlight.

How can I believe in ghosts with like twelve other girls snoring just a few feet away?

Except the smell of lavender lingers in the cabin.

I close the window. Then I head back to bed and pull the covers up to my neck, and somehow I fall asleep again.

When my alarm goes off the next morning, the cabin is almost empty. I grab my stuff and head to the bathroom to get ready. Val is standing at the sink brushing her teeth. “You okay this morning?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m fine.”

She takes my arm and runs her fingers over the bruise on my elbow. Her touch is so gentle, but I still flinch, and she looks concerned.

“Just a little sore,” I say. “No big deal.”

All through breakfast, there’s chatter about the first rehearsal coming up tonight. Everyone is so excited. It’s contagious, that buzz. It fills up the whole cafeteria.