We made it to the reflecting ball, which was dotted with water droplets. I wiped them off and stared into it. At my side, I could see Barrett staring at his own reflection.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking down. “I’m sorry for making you feel unwelcome.”

“It’s okay,” I said.

“My parents aren’t perfect—God knows—but I’ve always had a place to go. I never even stopped to think what it would be like not to have that.”

“I never did, either,” I said. “It would have been weird to spend much time thinking about it, actually.”

We were having this conversation with each other’s distorted reflections.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, with a firmness behind the words that was almost emotional. “Agatha likes you. She trusts you.”

I turned to the real Barrett in surprise. “You think so?”

“Definitely.” His eyes darted away. For the first time, I got the idea that Barrett may have been shy. Maybe at school he wasn’t the princely snob I’d assumed. He probably still had a line of girls waiting for him, but maybe they all liked him because he was quiet and thoughtful. And cute.

“I like her, too,” I said. “It was a little rocky at the beginning, but we get along now. What was she like before she got sick?”

“She was kind of wild,” he said. “I mean, by Mom’s standards.”

“I feel like everybody’s wild by your mother’s standards.”

He laughed, but it was short and there wasn’t much humor behind it. “Yeah, she’s pretty strict. When she and Agatha got into it . . . you could hear them yelling all over the house.”

“Really?” I asked.

“You’re surprised?” he asked. “Well . . . I guess you would be. You didn’t know Agatha.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s kind of weird to think that she and I would never have met if both our lives hadn’t gotten totally messed up.”

“She would have liked you,” he said. Then, quieter, with a hint of guilty embarrassment behind it: “I mean, she does. But—”

“I know what you mean,” I said. “But I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?”

“Because look at me,” I said. “And look at her.”

He literally looked me up and down. “Well, your fashion choices are kind of eccentric, but other than that . . . I don’t get what you mean.”

He was teasing me, which was fair. My outfit was absurd.

“Forget it,” I said. “It’s late. We should get inside.”

As if to underscore my words, the sky lit up overhead, and the flash of light was followed instantly by a deafening crack of thunder. It was so close and so loud that I felt my skin tingle. Barrett and I both ducked, and then we stared at each other.