In high school, the pattern repeated itself, this time with a girl from my English class. We became fast friends, inseparable, before we got into a fight over who was allowed to wear the dress that we both loved to the spring dance, and while we eventually made up, it was never the same.

In college, the pattern continued.

And then came adulthood and postcollege life. While I had work buddies and a social circle, the closeness of those friendships never repeated itself. I had nearly accepted it, that adult friendships were meant to have a hefty dose of space.

But all of that ended when I moved to Whispering Farms and met Liz, Jess, and Melissa. They were truly my first friendships where I felt like I could be myself, where I felt there was a place for who I truly was, an Amy-shaped slot in our group. And, looking back, it was from that safe place where I truly started to blossom, to feel like a grown-up.

I had to give it one more try, a final plea to ask them to reconsider helping Liz. I picked up my phone and typed out a text, my heart in my throat.

—

We sat for a moment in the uncomfortable silence of my backyard, the white noise of the cicadas all around us. A faint odor of burning wood filled the air, from where the Baileys had burned their redbud, a tree unfortunate enough to have been in Liz’s path the night of the Ouija board.

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but we have to do an exorcism,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “All of us. It will only work if it’s all three of us.”

Melissa slapped a hand on the table and began to stand. “Amy, I agreed to come over here and hear you out. But this has gone too far.” She stood and crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head. “My entire life was spent in fear. My parents told me if I wore shorts, I would upset God. They said child molesters were lurking around every corner. They said if I didn’t wear my best dress every Sunday to services, I would literally go to hell.” She looked at us, eyebrows raised high. “But you know what? The scariest things are the ones that are real. Child molesters weren’t lurking around the corner, they were living down the street. One of the high-ranking members of their church was arrested a few years ago.”

“Whoa,” Jess whispered. A large bandage was on her face, taped across her cheek.