I didn’t see Jo-Jo that much anymore, and I had to wonder why she’d accepted Brit’s invitation. The last time I’d seen her had been at a wedding last November. She and Jack had been guests, and I’d been working. I’d been sober about eight months but still wasn’t broadcasting it—after too many misfires, I didn’t want to jinx things. Jo-Jo, remembering the high school version of me, kept sneaking me vodka shots. Finally, after dumping three shots in a potted ficus, I’d told her I was now sober. That had earned me an eye roll and a “just this once.” Girls like her, who can shut off the drinking like a water tap, don’t really get girls like me, who can drink until our livers fail.

Jo-Jo wrapped her arms around me. “I was so worried about you,” she whispered. “I wanted to see you in the hospital. But was cut off at the pass.”

I had asked Brit to keep everyone away. No one needed to see my newly shorn hair, pale skin, and confused expression. Not my best Instagram moment. “I wouldn’t have remembered it anyway.”

“Brit said you don’t recall the accident.”

I shrugged, refusing to let ten lost days bother me. “Just as well. Who wants to remember a car accident?”

Jo-Jo grinned. “Right. Who wants to remember?”

“Jo-Jo.” Brit likes to draw out the O.

“Time to get your hat,” I warned.

“Right. On to the business of this party.” She turned and her grin widened. “Brit, can I be whoever I want to be?”

Brit, her white witch hat cocked, handed Jo-Jo the Scarecrow hat, complete with straw. “I’ve chosen all the hats. Keeping everyone out of their comfort zone.”

“Why am I the Scarecrow?” Jo-Jo grimaced as she settled the hat on her head.

“Doesn’t really matter, does it?” Brit said. “Hats are meant to be conversation starters.”

“I’d rather not be remembered as brainless,” Jo-Jo said.

“Think of yourself as the good loyal one. Kurt’s certainly not made of tin and has a heart,” I said. “And I’m no Dorothy.”

Brit’s smile faded. “It’s all in fun.”

“I know,” I said quickly, seeing the tension rising in my sister. She never handled mutiny well. “Fun, right?”

“Exactly,” she said.

Jo-Jo waved to Kurt. They hugged briefly, and that counted for something. During the police investigation, Jo-Jo had told the detective that she’d seen Kurt and Clare fighting before she’d vanished. “Hey, Kurt.”

“You look good, Jo-Jo,” he said.

“Thanks, Kurt.”