They were interrupted by Gigi, who hobbled into the room resplendent in a fuzzy pink bathrobe, a fresh coat of red lipstick, and leopard-print mules. “Ginger will be right down. She wants to take the picture outside. And Ali’s right, Digger; leave her be. Are you worried about her being herself or that she’ll turn into a Copycat? Because if it’s the latter, you know Copycats begin to change soon after birth.” Despite being almost one hundred years old, Gigi’s ears missed nothing.

Thrilled to have an ally, Ali added, “How many times did you test my abilities when I was little?”

“Too many to count,” said Digger.

“See? I’m not a Copycat, just a regular old person like Mom. Stop worrying.”

“Don’t change the subject, Ali-Cat. You know that’s not what I was talking about. I know it’s hard to change schools, but the best way to make new friends is to be yourself.”

Like Digger had a clue about friends. He had only one friend: Ali’s mom, who was hurrying down the stairs toward them, applying her lipstick as she went.

“You’re supposed to be outside, people! We need to hurry; I just got a text from my supervisor. They need me as soon as I can get there.” She’d started work at a local nursing home the week before and, to make a good impression, went in early and stayed late.

Two minutes later, Ali and her parents stood on the front porch and watched Gigi struggle to adjust the camera lens.

“Stupid fog,” Gigi muttered. “It makes you look like ghosts.”

Ali, too nervous to sleep, had watched the fog roll in from the bay at five a.m., a thick line of chalky mist as unstoppable as the waves that broke on the shore. Within half an hour it had swallowed both the city and the sun, and the temperature had dropped twenty degrees.

When Ali had moved in, Gigi had given her a dusty old book about the fog by some long-dead Sloane relative. A quick skim revealed it to be the most boring book ever. Even worse, it smelled funny, and there were stains on the cover. The only interesting thing about it was that Digger and his cousin Teddy had written funny notes to each other in it when they were Ali’s age, probably because they thought it was as boring as she did. Besides, if she wanted to learn about fog, she could borrow her mom’s cell phone and search the latest scientific information.

“Hurry, Gigi,” Ali’s mom said. “I’m half frozen!” She was dressed in the nurse’s-aide scrubs Ali loved best, the ones covered in cheery daisies.

“I’m hurrying,” Gigi said, but she stopped to tighten the belt of her robe instead. “You three need to squeeze together. All I can see of Digger is his ear.”

Digger muttered something and moved closer.