Glory sighs. “Memories are strange, you know? There are things about that summer that are so clear. But there are other things that I can’t quite call into focus. It’s like living in a house, and every time you come home, something’s just slightly different. Nothing major. Just tiny things. So it seems the same, until you realize the coffee cups are on the wrong shelf in the pantry. Or the bathroom door opens the wrong way.” She reaches out and touches my hair, just the way Willa did at auditions. She runs her fingers over a long strand. “It’s a lot like . . .”

“It’s a lot like what?” I ask.

“It’s a lot like being haunted.”

ACT II: SCENE 3

Rehearsal that night is strange. I have trouble focusing, which isn’t like me at all. Or at least it didn’t used to be. But I keep thinking about last night. The cold lap of the waves in the dark. And this morning. My mother’s name on the scene shop wall. I’m combing through every little bit of information I have about her now. Every tiny thing I’ve learned from Willa. And from Glory. I’m stringing all those bits together like making a popcorn chain for a Christmas tree.

And I’m working on really getting to know Eden, too. Attempting to work off-book, because I already know my lines. I knew most of them before I ever got here. After all, I’ve been carrying that script around in my backpack for years.

I’m also trying not to turn fire red when Cole touches me during a scene. Or when I feel him watching me from across the theatre. It’s a lot, especially when his hand lingers on my arm. The brush of his fingers feels like the striking of a match.

He catches me outside the barn after rehearsal, and he offers to walk me back to my cabin. The fog is already rolling in. It swirls around my feet. Alive and wet. Like a licking tongue. Or waves lapping over the sand.

Cole keeps his hand on my back as we move through the dark together. I feel the heat of him through my shirt. And by the time we reach the cabin steps, I think his palm print must be burned into my skin.

He’s leaning against the porch railing, looking at me, but neither one of us says anything for a few seconds. I already miss the warmth of his hand on my back. The press of his fingers. And without even realizing it, I pull Lex’s lighter out of my pocket and flick it with my thumb.

“You cold tonight?” Cole asks me, and I shrug.

“Maybe a little.”