"You're enjoying this too much," Adam mutters, checking out his face in the mirror.

I'm trying not to blink, but it's terrifying. I keep waiting for her to jab me in the eye. "What about you? We need to dress you up."

She pauses, nose crinkling. "Yeah...no. I don't think I own anything that could be considered 'rocker.'"

"Something else, then." I blink rapidly as she draws away, then get up to peek in the mirror. I look like a raccoon.

"Bubblegum Goth," Adam suggests.

"Ha ha. No." Casper stands between me and Adam and all three of us stare in the mirror. She's studying her face. "Let's make me a zombie."

Adam says, "Morbid," and she smacks his arm.

"I'm serious. Vince, go find me some ratty clothes. Adam can do my makeup."

I leave Adam to deal with that while I go into Casper's room and begin rifling through her closet. Finding something for a zombie costume in a wardrobe befitting Rainbow Brite isn't easy. I manage to locate an old pair of jeans with holes in the knees, acid washed and made to look dirty along the thighs. I never got the purpose of buying pants that looked stained and ripped, but it must be a girl thing. I find a ratty t-shirt that has to be four sizes too big for her, and has a small tear in the shoulder. Once upon a time it had a decal of a band logo, but it's so cracked and faded I can't make out who it's supposed to be.

When I join them in the bathroom, Casper's face is covered in white, and the dark circles beneath her eyes have been accented with eye-shadow. Adam is in the process of using more shadow to give her mouth a gray tint. I flicker to an image of Maggie in her casket, wax-like, cold. I shiver.

Casper's eyes dart to me. "What'd you find?"

I hold up the shirt and pants. Her gaze lands on the shirt and her mouth downturns, expression going blank, before she nudges Adam away. "I'll finish up and get dressed. I know you're both queer as monkeys, but you're not watching me change."

We're pushed out of the bathroom with little choice but to retreat to her bedroom. Adam goes to rub his eyes, remembers his makeup, and makes a face.

"It looks kind of nice on you," I admit. He gives me a tiny smile.

"It looks nice on you, too."

"Liar."

"I am lying. Sorry." Our eyes meet for half a second before we grin and look away. "You have one of those faces... I don't know. It's sad when anything detracts from your eyes."

That gives me pause. Did he just compliment me? We look at each other again. There's no way he isn't as aware of me as I am of him or of the gap that seems to have been closed between us even in a few short hours.

For half a second, I think I might try to kiss him.