As Henry and I watched Mischa and her coach, Mom appeared at my side holding a cup of coffee for me. “How are you holding up?” she asked me, assuming that I was torn up about the deaths of Mischa’s parents. I mean, I was upset. But I was also a little preoccupied with wanting to prevent my own tragic death. I reluctantly took the cup from her, planning to ditch it at the first opportunity. I needed to keep my hands free, and glanced nervously at the entrance to the viewing room in search of Cheryl.

“I’m okay,” I replied.

Henry nudged me in the side with his elbow. Mischa’s coach was leading her out of the room with a strong arm wound around her shoulders. Panic surged through my veins. I turned to Mom and mumbled something about going to check on Mischa to see if she was okay, and then race-walked out of the room with Henry following me.

The lobby of the funeral home was crowded, and it took a moment for me to find Mischa in the sea of bobbing heads. Or rather, I saw her coach’s buzz cut towering over everyone else, and realized that he was escorting her outside to get some air.

Even though it was a sunny afternoon, conducting this process outside was unpredictable. Outside was not the plan.

I set down the coffee Mom had given me on a side table, and Henry and I wormed our way through the crowd to reach the front doors. Outside, a cluster of people were smoking cigarettes. I spotted Mischa’s coach walking her along the sidewalk that ran in front of the funeral home toward the garden on the side of the building.

“Where are they going?”

Turning in unison, Henry and I saw that Violet had followed us outside. She looked distressed, and I wondered if maybe she was more invested in helping break the curse than I’d originally assumed. Neither of us answered, but all three of us watched with bated breath as Mischa and her coach rounded the corner of the building and disappeared around the brick wall. I knew what they’d find there: two cement benches, a trellis that was covered with bougainvillea in the summer, and a fountain that was dry because the temperature was still freezing at night. The fountain had been dry the afternoon of Jennie’s memorial too.

“Will this work outside?” Violet asked in a panicky voice.

“There’s no reason why it wouldn’t work,” I said. “But it’s going to be a lot trickier—”

Without any warning, my scalp broke out into a fit of hot tingles. It was like Jennie was suddenly back in full force, desperate for me to notice something happening at that very moment. I wondered if Mrs. Robinson had been able to restore our connection. But before I could even consider calling her or asking my pendulum—

“Hey, guys. How’s Mischa?”

Cheryl had arrived. She wore a black sheath dress that looked like it would have been appropriate for a job interview. How typically and adorably Cheryl, always looking older and wiser than a teenager. Dan Marshall stood behind her in a blazer and a pair of khakis.